Brainwaves
by Flarn
Summary: 2007 Movieverse. SamBee. Sam experiences a strange dream in which he shares his most intimate thoughts and feelings with Bumblebee, but is it really a dream? The reality that awaits him is one that no human has ever known: life as a giant robot.
1. Chapter 1

Happy birthday Navarre! 

Author's Notes at the end of the fic, because I don't want to spoil the surprise.

* * *

Brainwaves

"Hello?" Sam's voice seemed to disappear into the darkness that surrounded him. He thought that perhaps an echo would have been reassuring, giving him a sense of dimension, an idea of where he was, but there was no echo, indeed, no sound at all in this place, if indeed it was a place.

He just didn't know.

He didn't know if it was day or night or what day of the week it was. He didn't know if he was breathing, he didn't know if he was standing, sitting, or lying down. In fact, he couldn't feel his body at all.

"Is anybody...?" Out there? In here? Where was he? A wave of panic clenched at him, like a giant fist.

"Sam?" That familiar, soft voice...

"Bee!" Sam thought he might pass out from the relief.

He sensed the approach of his robot guardian, crossing what seemed like an unimaginable distance in a fraction of a second. One instant he was alone, and the next a huge, comforting presence seemed to have wrapped around him, cradling him in warmth and security.

"How are you, Sam?" Bee asked.

The question was posed in a neutral tone, but Sam thought he could detect an undercurrent, something that pulled at the corners of his mind, pulled him towards something... Then a minute shift of some incomprehensible variable, and the feeling was gone again.

"Okay, I guess..." It was the truth, more or less. The one problem he could think of had been taken care of the moment Bee arrived. But arrived where, exactly? "Bee, where are we?"

"You're dreaming, Sam." Again the neutral voice, calm and soothing, offering the statement as simple fact.

He latched onto that fact with instant acceptance, and a gratitude that surprised him, even frightened him, distantly in some part of him that... shut down almost immediately.

"Dreaming, huh? Well, that explains everything. I've had some pretty weird dreams." He recalled one particular dream in which there had been fish swimming through the air, and an apple screaming its head off as he was about to bite into it. It had been one crazy, surreal dream, and he laughed about it now, but for some reason his dreaming mind hadn't found the imagery at all funny. In fact it had scared the daylights out of him and he had woken up in a cold sweat.

The memory of the horror coursed through him, along with the confusion, almost as if he were reliving the dream. It didn't mean anything, as far as he could tell, so why had it frightened him so?

"Perhaps that was what frightened you?" Bee's voice answering what he had thought were his unspoken thoughts seemed so natural and so right that he didn't question it, but even the possibility of a question was gently answered. "I am with you, Sam. I can see what you see, feel what you feel, know what you know... I know how afraid you were. It will be alright." The soothing presence of the other pulled tighter in an intangible embrace that was somehow very real. Bit by bit, the fear faded, replaced by peace.

"But it was just a stupid dream, it shouldn't have bothered - " What he would have said was cut off as a wash of acceptance flooded him, wrapping around the shreds of lingering embarrassment and turning them to dust.

As he paused, shocked in the aftermath, he sensed the emotion changing, becoming livelier, twinkling with amusement, no, fascination. All the fascination a colossal, three-story tall alien robot car could possess, focused solely on him.

So many things about himself Sam took for granted, silly dreams, embarrassing memories, nervous habits, but the emotion Bee was projecting suggested that he, on the other hand, did not find any of it dull. He looked forward eagerly to any new discovery, not just because it was about humanity but because it was about Sam, who was, quite possibility, the most interesting example of humanity to have ever existed.

Sam was overwhelmed. "You think I'm interesting."

"Very interesting." The charge of electric understatement in those two words could have powered most of the continental United States.

Sam had known Bee was his friend, why else would he have stayed and put up with living incognito in a world where the concept of cybernetic life forms was pure fiction, and machines were seen simply as tools to be used and thrown away? He had often wondered, though, what sorts of thoughts went on in that shiny, yellow head with regard to him. He wouldn't have blamed Bee if he had felt a little superior. He was bigger, he was stronger, he could download the Internet in his head... But instead to find out that the coolest, most amazing life form ever found him interesting...

It was flattering and exciting, and as he became aware of what he was feeling, he received another rush of emotion from Bee, mirroring the sentiment, flattered and excited by Sam's own flattery and excitement. It bounced between them for some moments, magnifying with each bounce, vibrating faster and faster like a water molecule heated to the boiling point.

Dizzy with wonder and yearning, Sam instinctively reached out for the presence engulfing him, seeking something he couldn't quite define. It was like standing on the high diving board, looking down towards eternity. The jump would be terrifying, but he knew everything would cease to matter once he submerged in the water below him, and the water below him was Bee.

Gravity's pull was inexorable. He took the jump.

Only to be caught, halfway, and set gently back, away from the precipice. He was aware, suddenly, of monumental efforts of restraint, a restraint that was nonetheless strained almost to the breaking point. The presence around him, Bee's presence, shuddered uncontrollably.

"Too far, too fast..."

Sam couldn't tell who had spoken, Bee or himself.

"Bumblebee..."

"Yes, Samuel?"

"Yuck, don't call me that." He found himself laughing and Bee joined in, but he knew, somehow, without having to ask, why Bee had called him by his full name.

"Humans seem to do this when something serious is on their minds." Bee's reply was merely a confirmation.

"What just happened?"

"Something you aren't ready for."

"Bee?"

"Please, Sam..." A faint, stressful vibration communicated itself to him. It was oddly familiar, the way it felt when... Just as he was about to capture the essence of the emotion, it was gone as if a valve had been closed off. "Do you have something you can share with me?"

"Something I can share?"

"Something, anything... Preferably something pleasant." The tone was desperate, the fractured, anxious vibrato teetering on the edge... So very familiar... "What's food like?"

"Food is awesome!" His enthusiasm radiated between them and Bee seemed to gobble up the emotion like a kid tasting ice cream for the first time.

Ice cream. Triple chocolate fudge brownie sundae. Though this memory was definitely in the past, Sam felt like he was reliving it in perfect detail. With the brownie so warm, and the ice cream so cold, melting slowly, getting absorbed into the brownie, and the crunchy nuts, and the real whipped cream, and the chocolate sauce... Dipping into the bowl for that first spoonful, the delicious anticipation of how it was going to taste and feel in his mouth, and then the explosion of flavours, temperatures, textures, so perfect...

And the tiny, avid whimper at the edge of his mind that most definitely had not come from him.

"Bee, you're..."

"...enjoying this more than I ever thought possible," the robot finished for him, sounding a little breathless, if robots could even get out of breath.

"Well, I probably wouldn't go trying ice cream for real." Sam relished the humorous mental picture of a 16 foot tall robot hunkered down outside Dairy Queen scarfing down sundaes as fast as the employees could bring them. "I'm sure your body isn't made to handle human food."

"It wouldn't taste the same to me as it does to you in any case," the robot remarked, seeming amused. "My flavour receptors are not designed for the enjoyment of foods incapable of sustaining my function."

"So how come you liked ice cream just now?"

"I experienced your perception of it." With those words Sam received a hint of guilty pleasure that was every bit as succulent as the memory of the sundae.

"This is has to be the weirdest dream I have ever had." He realized it was probably one of the best, or even the best, strange as it was. Here in this almost empty world, with Bumblebee not just near him, not just holding him close, but utterly surrounding him.

"Like in the womb. Appropriate, because you are being reborn."

Again the voice, or thought, whatever it was, whose source he couldn't identify.

A vague sense of unease filled him, and he felt Bee do something that was akin to wrapping his arms tighter around him. Felt the fear being gathered up and tucked away as gently as a parent tucking in an errant child who had gotten out of bed in the middle of the night.

Bee's presence had been gradually relaxing, Sam realized it only now because it was no longer relaxed. Instead it had an aura of vigilance, of resolute protectiveness, that worried him.

"Bee? What's going on?" He felt the comforting tendrils caress him again, but this time he slapped them away, immediately regretting it at the sharp spike of hurt that radiated briefly from the other before it was quashed. "Oh Bee, I'm sorry..." His guilt was genuine because this time when Bee reached out, Sam allowed himself to be touched in that way that was not a touch at all, and yet so much more, that touch he was beginning to crave. Sam felt Bee's relief that Sam had not meant to hurt him, and the answering reassurance that one microscopic incident was not going to change how Bee felt.

"I think you should go back to enjoying your dream, Sam," said Bee. "I am glad that you like it so much."

There was a flow of sensation again, of holding back, of being held back from something amazing. Suddenly the flow fragmented, and the impression Sam got was of a water balloon with a hole in it, and somebody trying ineffectually to prevent the water from escaping.

Bit by bit, other impressions filtered themselves outwards towards him, and he again felt the tickle of familiarity. There was a rushing sensation around him, an awareness of a great deal of frantic activity, like a house of cards falling and being reassembled at the speed of light. This time light speed wasn't quite fast enough.

When he caught the escaped emotion he held it close, and smiled down on it, surprised to find he wasn't at all disturbed by what it was. He wrapped himself around it, examining it from all angles with a twinge of sympathy, as he in turn was wrapped in swathes of huge relief at his acceptance. Sam began turned the emotion over and over, feeling it grow in intensity, in persistence, feeling the warmth of it melt, seeping inside of him. He could feel Bee shuddering again, and reaching towards him, trying to take the feeling back, but Sam held on greedily. "No fair, mister, I caught it from you, so now you're just going to have to accept the consequences." He examined the feeling closer.

"Bee, I can see you're frustrated somehow. I've got to be reading this wrong, but if you were human I'd suggest masturbating, but I know you robots aren't really interested in that sort of..." His mind called up a vision of one of his best masturbation moments, and it immediately closed around him, like a venus flytrap snapping shut on a helpless fly.

Oh god oh god oh god oh god! He was so close. Hands stroking, hips bucking, he could almost feel that he wasn't alone, that the slickness covering his fingers wasn't the lubrication he had produced on his own, but the warm wetness of a girl taking him inside, making him feel so good...

So good, so very good, sex with Mikaela was so much better than he had ever imagined. He grabbed the seat hard, trying to be gentle, trying not to scream from the burning ache trying to tear itself from inside him. Mikaela was moaning underneath him, by some miracle what he was doing was working even though he had heard it was hard to get a girl off, but she was more experienced and she had already shown him how to bring her off with his mouth, and apparently he was a natural at oral sex... and... and... and...

Then he felt his perspective change... two bodies writhing, crying out their excitement, the seat creaking and slick with sweat... It stopped him cold.

Sam and Bumblebee had never discussed what had happened that day. Sam was too embarrassed and knew he should have found another way to be with Mikaela, but there really wasn't any. He didn't have credit cards to rent a motel room, and neither his parents nor Mikaela's father would have allowed their children to have guests of the opposite sex in their rooms. So they had done it, and Bee had never said a word of complaint, though Sam had often felt guilty about using his friend this way, as if he were, in fact, just a car.

Almost drowning with guilt and embarrassment he was shocked when he felt himself pulled back into his glorious memory, only this time it was different. Bumblebee was inside him, sharing every thrust, every gasp, every moment of exquisite pleasure/pain. Soft groans filled his mind, mingling with the memory sounds of the girl beneath him...

And he felt what Bee had felt: curiosity, understanding, glowing pride at being there to witness a monumental event in the life of his human, the day when he lost his virginity. He had read how important cars often were to this event, and had been prepared to accept this responsibility as part of his job.

"Bee, I..." Sam looked down and Bee was underneath him, neck arched back, and the sounds he made were so inhuman that Sam thought he shouldn't have been able to process their meaning, yet he did, and they aroused him beyond belief. Together they rode higher and higher on the crest of his memory, and their mutual pleasure in it.

The visual component of the memory around them faded, but the rising pleasure remained. Bumblebee's presence swirled around him like a violent storm, yet continued to hold him as if he were as fragile as a piece of glass.

"Oh Sam! Sam, I..." Fragile or not, Bee was the one who shattered.

Brilliant, blazing love burst forth from between the cracks, and Sam lunged for it, determined that this time he would not be left outside. Why would Bee want to shut him out when he felt this way?

And as Sam reached beyond the broken fragments he touched...

_Sam, Sam, Sam... please don't go there, please not yet... it feels so good, don't stop... Stop! Please stop, please, you're not ready... Please, please, do that again... Please, no... Please, stay with me forever... we have forever now, it won't be so bad, I'll show you... oh why, why do you have to feel so good, you shouldn't... oh, you shouldn't... know how to do this... youweren'tbornCybertronianeventhoughnowyou'reoneofus..._

One of us.

Sam burst from the table, shattering the restraints, dimly aware of things he shouldn't be seeing floating before his eyes: status bars, percentages, and over it all huge flashing warning signals that seemed to terrify him all the more.

Hands grabbed at him, but he swatted them away like flies, turning this way and that until his gaze fell on a distantly familiar yellow figure that stared at him through horrified blue optics. Some sort of cable was stretched between their chests and he seized it in a fist, ripping it free. The other let out a scream that sounded like metal being shredded.

Taking advantage of the yellow robot's distraction, Sam lunged for him, seeing intricately joined, dark blue metallic hands wrap around the yellow and black throat.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?" a mechanical voice bellowed savagely. A voice that was coming from him.

He never heard the answer as, mercifully, his vision went dark once more.

* * *

Author's Notes:

I've wanted to do a story like this for more than ten years, and I finally got the motivation to try it because somebody's birthday wish happened to be exactly what I was trying to work up the inspiration to write.

My idea was to show how Transformers could have intimacy analogous to sex without resorting to human like appendages. Of course, I cheated somewhat since it appears one of the participants used to be a human, thus could give human readers a frame of reference they might find ahem stimulating. ;)

I owe much to the BeeXSam community on livejournal for re-awakening my fan fiction muse with their little plot bunnies, including the idea of Sam becoming a Transformer. There was a similar plot in the old Transformers series, and, while I have never seen it, my understanding was that being abruptly transferred into a Cybertronian body was very traumatic for the human in question, and he went insane, although he did eventually begin to calm down.

Will this story continue? I can't really say. I haven't been well in the past few years, and even when I am I have a lousy habit of starting huge epic stories that I run out of steam with and never finish. Still, the plot is there, tantalising in my head, and it's all shiny and bright, so maybe, just maybe, I will get to share it with you like I want to.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's notes:

Wow, thanks for all the great feedback guys. The inspiration is still flowing, so I'm going to keep on going.

For those who have questions, they will be answered in due time. In the meantime, enjoy the ride.

Oh, and please don't drink gasoline, okay?

* * *

Brainwaves - Part 2 

When Sam opened his eyes again, there were no flashing warnings in front of them, but that didn't mean his vision was back to normal. Down in the bottom right corner of his field of view, a yellow message proclaimed "Weapons offline", while to the left was a green bar, like the download bar on a Web browser, that told him "Systems at 51 percent". "Firewall active", in blue lettering, situated right in the middle, was the most cryptic statement of all.

He tried to sit up, but found that he couldn't move anything but his face. Oddly, there were no error messages to account for that.

Far above his head were metal rafters, supporting a sloping ceiling of crude sheet metal, but attempting to guess his surroundings did not hold his attention for very long as he became aware of bewildering new sensations. His whole body felt like it had been encased in lead, and there was a buzzing feeling in his chest, where his heart ought to have been. That alone was more than bad enough, but down below lurked something that sounded like a swimming pool filter on steroids, and vibrated like the spin cycle on an aging washing machine. As he searched beyond the heavy bass thrum inside of him, a whole host of clicks, and whirrs, and wheezes and pops made themselves known, not only as sounds, but as tangible movements within the unmoving slab of the form that imprisoned him. No longer quiet, organic flesh, his body had become a crawling anthill of machinery.

"Ratchet, Sam's optics have come online," rumbled a deep, thoughtful voice, that Sam recognized as belonging to Optimus Prime. Seconds later the blue and silver face of the kindly Autobot leader came into view.

"Optimus?" Sam felt a jolt of panic as he heard that other voice again, the voice he somehow commanded, but did not feel like he owned. It was not as deep as Optimus', but it sounded frighteningly mature, although it wavered with the treble of his alarm. He could feel it, echoing inside him.

The pool filter, or whatever it was in his lower chest, sped up.

"It's going to be alright, Sam," the large blue and red robot told him, optics firm and unwavering.

A pale blue light swept over him, and he realized it was one of Ratchet's scans. "Sam's personality matrix seems to be stabilizing," the medic reported.

"That's excellent news!" Optimus glanced away from the yellow and red rescue bot and back towards Sam. "Do you know who you are?"

"I'm Sam Witwicky," he heard himself say. "Or, at least I was Sam Witwicky. Would someone _please_ tell me what's going on? And where's Bumblebee?"

"Ratchet had to forcibly offline him. He's been by your side, without recharging, ever since..." The large robot cut himself off. "He should be just about recharged now, would you like me to get him?"

"Please..."

Optimus nodded and clanked away. A few moments later, there was shuffling and metallic commotion, followed by unmistakable, and incomprehensible shouting in a language that sounded like a cross between Japanese and Yiddish spoken by a person with a laryngectomy being pulverized in a blender.

There was a clattering sound that he realized was Bumblebee running towards him, because a moment later the round silver and yellow face of his friend came into view. "Sam, you are awake!"

Visions of that face, of the blue optics flickering in disbelief, the sensation of metallic plates and cables clenching in a disturbingly organic way beneath blue fingertips. "Awake again, you mean..." he said slowly, a sickening horror dawning, "I think I remember something from before, I think I... Oh god, Bee, I _attacked_ you!"

"It's alright. You were not yourself Sam," Bumblebee told him.

"I wasn't myself?" Sam echoed. "How about now? There are _things_ in front of my eyes that I am used to seeing on a computer monitor, I can't move anything besides my face..."

"Ratchet had to - " Bee began.

Sam kept right on going, his volume rising along with his fear, his fear rising still more as he felt the machinery inside him increase its tempo, almost like a racing human heart. "...and I'm talking in a voice that sounds Darth Vader after he'd been kicked in the nuts! And you say I fucking _wasn't myself_???"

"Ratchet had to shut down your motor functions so you wouldn't hurt yourself." Or anyone else. The unspoken rest of the sentence was evident in the pause that Bee took. "But he says you are getting better now."

"Better?' Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing, could hardly believe what he was feeling, but it was too appalling not to be true. "Better how? Better at being a giant robot or better because I'm going to get my real body back, huh? Can you tell me that? 'Cause there's a world of difference!"

"Sam," the yellow Camaro bot replied calmly, "this is your real body. It doesn't belong to anyone else."

He had known, somehow, what the answer was going to be, but that didn't change anything. He continued to fight on, as if by words alone he could alter this nightmare fate that had befallen him. "Don't play word games with me, Bee! You know what I'm talking about!"

"Sam... There was an accident..."

"Bumblebee," Ratchet warned, "we discussed this already. His mind's not ready for..."

"I have to tell him something, Ratchet!" Bee exclaimed. "He's right here, awake and asking for answers!"

"Fine, but if you mess up my safety measures again, measures that, may I remind you, are in place so that Sam can HEAL, and he comes after you again, you can do your repairs yourself!"

"Please, everyone, calm down," Optimus had been silent, observing the exchange from somewhere outside Sam's field of view, but now, with almost parental authority, he intervened. "Bumblebee is right, Ratchet. Sam needs to be told something. Ratchet is also right, Bumblebee, Sam is in a fragile state right now, please exercise some judgment."

Bumblebee leaned closer, so Sam could see the strange flickering in his optics. He felt his hand being enfolded by the other's and given a gentle squeeze that he wished he was able to return. "There was an accident," the yellow scout repeated, "It left you... incapacitated... You can't remember it right now because Ratchet installed a memory block. It was too traumatic for you to deal with your recall of the event in conjunction with adjusting to your new body. Facing the two events together was tearing your mind apart."

"An accident..." Up until this point he had been consumed by his new state of being, and of how frightening and jarring it was, but now an even more terrible idea formed in his mind, the idea that someone else could have been impacted. "Oh god... what kind of accident? Was anyone else hurt? Mom? Dad? Mikaela? Miles? God, no, please no..."

He felt his hand being squeezed again, and Bee dropped his head for a moment, resting his forehead on their conjoined hands. "No Sam," he murmured, "everyone else is fine."

"Can I see them?" Sam asked, then realized that in the state he was in nobody would recognize him. A crushing feeling settled into his chest.

"We had discussed the possibility," Bee's head came up to look at him once more. "But with you being... with the... stress of your adaptation, we thought that you had enough to manage without..."

"Without the way everyone would probably react," Sam finished, hopelessness and helplessness seeping into every fibre and fibre optic cable of his new being. "You guys are right. How am I ever going to tell them?"

"We will help you, Sam, if... when the time comes. I will help you." There was something in the tone of Bee's voice, an echoing hopelessness of his own that Sam had never expected to hear from his seemingly irrepressible friend.

"Bee? You're not... you're not lying to me, are you? You know, to protect my 'fragile mind' or whatever... Everybody else is really okay?"

"I haven't lied to you, Sam. You were the only one... damaged, by the events... All your loved ones are fine. What happened to you was, as you would say, a freak accident."

"One that left me a freak," Sam felt the words spill from his lips unbidden, like poison dripping from the fangs of a cobra. He was not prepared for the effect they had on the yellow bot before him.

Bumblebee's hand shook where it clasped Sam's, and the yellow Autobot made a few inarticulate sounds, attempts at speech that stuttered and never formed words, his shoulders sinking lower and lower in defeat. Abruptly, he stood up.

"Bee?"

The yellow and black Autobot gave him one last, inscrutable look and walked away, his steps slow and subdued.

"Bee? Where are you going? Please don't leave go... I... look, I'm sorry, okay..."

Sam heard the sound of his transforming, the screaming rev of an engine, spinning wheels on gravel, and then silence. Bee was gone.

"Bee..."

Sam could almost hear the silence being filled up with words left unsaid, secrets kept hidden, and fear beyond imagining.

After a moment, Ratchet's blue laser swept over him again, and he felt a pair of hands cradling his neck, "Well, you handled that rather well." The upside down visage of the medic surveyed him inscrutably.

"Gee, thanks," Sam blurted allowing sarcasm to shield his guilt.

"No, I mean you handled the confrontation without... 'going ballistic' again, as you humans would put it. That is a very good sign."

"Ha!" Sam scoffed, "Nice save, but I know what you're really trying to say. I screwed up, I know... but this isn't easy for me."

"It isn't easy for him either." The larger yellow robot's hands were still on his neck, and for a moment Sam thought that he was simply going to snap it. He felt like he deserved it too, because he had obviously done something to upset Bee. "You really don't know... There is so much that needs to be said that cannot be right now. The needs of your new body come first, but even after you are fully functional, the road to healing will be a long one, for both you and Bumblebee." The Autobot repair specialist paused. "I turned your hydraulics back on. You can sit up now. But please, if you start to panic, by the ashes of the Allspark I implore you: tell me. I would rather you not start ripping parts out of anyone again. You are more than enough patient for me to handle right now. Got it?"

Sam nodded his awareness of Ratchet's words, but being able to move again was rapidly grabbing all of his attention. His fingers touched the cool, dull metal of the table, or whatever it was, on which he lay, and he was amazed that such leaden-seeming digits could give him so much sensory information. He pressed his palms down. Clicks, crackles, rumbles and whirrs from inside his arms, legs and torso accompanied his efforts to pull himself into a sitting position. Some sort of high-tension wires had taken the place of his muscles, and they felt like they were about to snap.

Cybertronian bodies looked so impressive and indestructible to an outsider, but the reality was springs and cogs, and grinding gears. At the moment he felt about as indestructible as a pocket watch.

Swinging his legs off the table, he took in his surroundings. They were in some sort of a large building made out of corrugated sheet metal, although building was a generous term since it was more like an aircraft hangar or a barn than any sort of habitation. The floors were dirt, pounded flat, no doubt, by the feet of giant robots going about their daily business. The walls were lined with stacks of crates, and there was an Autobot sized door cut into one wall.

"Where's everyone?" Sam asked. "I mean, I know Bee's gone..." _Because I was an ass_, he thought.

"Optimus went after Bumblebee, and Ironhide is on patrol."

Sam slumped in relief to know that Bee wasn't alone out there, but when he would have asked another question...

"Drink this." An oil drum, filled with golden brown liquid was held out to him.

Those scary, dark blue hands he had last seen wrapped around Bumblebee's straining throat accepted the makeshift cup. It smelled like... "Gasoline? Ratchet, I can't drink gasoline."

"No, Sam, what you can't drink is milkshakes," said the medic, unaware of how the casual remark impacted on the psyche of the newest Autobot as he went over to a tall stack of crates and fiddling with an assortment of bars and pieces of metal that looked almost like robot-sized tools. "Your systems need energy. Trust me, the gas will be fine."

The oil drum sank down onto his dark blue thigh, drawing his attention to the limb. The metal was very shiny in some places, new car shiny, but scraped and scuffed in others. It looked like had someone had taken a key to it, or more like several hundred keys.

"Why aren't you drinking? Oh..." Sam heard the medic clank closer, his presence hovering hesitantly. "That was careless of me. I'm just used to..."

"Stating facts, it's okay, Ratch," Sam said, bravely. "Bee told me that human food doesn't taste good to you guys, er..." It felt so strange to say what he was about to say next. "...us anyway... something about us not being about to run on it... Maybe that means I'm going to develop a taste for gas." He raised the oil drum in a mock-cheerful salute. "Bottom's up!"

"Wait!" Ratchet grabbed his hands, steadying him when he would have upended the drum. "Don't tilt it so far! You can't pour it in and gulp it back like... like before... You just sort of suck it, that's it..."

Sam was shocked at the flavour that hit his tongue, and then shocked by the realization that he still had a tongue, albeit as metallic as the rest of him. It was quite articulated and almost as flexible has his old one, a sort of tongue in shining armour... And it was doing a surprisingly good job at telling him the flavour of the gasoline, although he was pretty sure his human tongue would never have interpreted it quite like the impressions he was getting now. It tasted sort of like a cross between iced tea and french onion soup, and was strangely rather refreshing. Abruptly Sam realized he was very thirsty, or hungry, or whatever it was, and started sucking faster on the liquid, tilting his makeshift cup more as he needed to, until he had drained the entire oil drum.

"Good job!" Ratchet praised, taking the drum back and handing Sam a rag.

"Huh?" He stared at the cloth in his hand. "What's that for?"

Ratchet tapped his own chin in illustration.

"Oh." Sam wiped at his face with the rag, amazed at the amount he had gotten over himself. "I don't suppose they make Autobot sized sippy cups, huh?"

Ratchet paused with that far away look that Bee got when he was looking up something online. "Aha, yes..." The medic chuckled appreciatively. "That could be a useful invention..."

Sam didn't join in the laughter, however, because he was beginning to feel funny in a not-at-all-funny way that was confirmed by the appearance of red warnings flashing in front of his eyes. Something about fuel tank evacuation, that couldn't be what he thought it was, but a lurching sensation in his mid-section made him very convinced that it was. "Err, Ratchet, maybe if we're talking about inventing things a barf bag would be a better place to start..."

The quick thinking rescue bot got the oil drum back under Sam just in time as the gasoline came spewing back at high velocity. In the back of his mind, Sam marveled at the horrifying sounds he was producing, like a sump pump trying to backwash concrete.

The sound of squealing tires and overheated engines did not register in his mind at first until a flash of yellow and black at the corner of his eye, and the press a metallic body settling onto the table beside him told him that Bumblebee had come back.

"Bee..." His attempt at speaking was drowned in another bubbling gush of fluid.

Hands began rubbing his back soothingly as he continued to puke his robotic guts out.

"Shh, Sam, don't try to talk... Ratchet, why is this happening, what's wrong with him?"

"Slag it all, Bumblebee, I don't know! I'm scanning his systems as fast as I can... I know there's nothing wrong with the fuel, we've been drinking it ourselves for the past week."

Although the conversation concerned him, Sam had other things on his mind as his body continued to rebel, long after the gasoline was expelled - of course, as misfortune would have it, apparently even Autobots could experience dry heaves.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note:

Wow, two parts in one day. I wasn't intending it, but as long as I have it written I might as well share.

I have really been enjoying all the reviews and speculation I've been getting, it helps me to see if I feel I am on the right track, and you guys are reacting exactly the way I hoped. Bit by bit all your questions will be answered, don't worry.

* * *

Brainwaves part 3

An shudder ran through Sam's frame as he leaned over the oil drum, still heaving, as though his body was trying to vomit up all the technology that now comprised his internal organs and bodily functions in a futile attempt to restore his organic status. He trembled again, more violently, and felt himself go limp, almost falling on top of the barrel, except that Bumblebee caught him and managed to push him back onto the table where he lay, shivering uncontrollably.

"Ratchet!" Bumblebee's voice was filled with panic.

"Just a little longer! Got it! His systems can't process the fuel yet, it's too crude! He needs pure energon!"

"But we don't have pure energon! The refiner still doesn't work... Please, Ratchet! I can't lose him... Not again..."

"Is there anything that can be done, Ratchet?" Optimus asked.

"Well, if he had pre-processed fuel from someone else..."

"I'll do it," said Bumblebee. "Hook me up."

"But you two are the same size, and he's very low on power, if I splice your fuel lines together, he could suck you dry..."

"I guess I'll just have to keep refueling myself then."

"Alright..." Sam felt something being pulled free from his arm, then a sharp snick of pain, followed by the smell of heated metal being welded together.

"Here, Bumblebee, fuel up and then you had better lie down, donating fuel is enough of a strain on your systems, exerting yourself at this time would be very bad."

As the spasms of Sam's body began to calm he saw Bumblebee had an oil drum similar to the one Ratchet had given him, held up to his faceplate as he carefully sipped down the contents.

"There, that's good," said Ratchet solicitously, taking back the oil drum and helping Bumblebee to lie down next to Sam.

Sam wondered what had happened to the fuel he had so recently upchucked, and then reminded himself that these were alien robots, so perhaps it was better not to ask. Of course the fuel hadn't tasted any worse coming up than it had going down - it hadn't been in there long enough. "Ugh..." He so did not want to go there, why did his thoughts keep taking him anyway?"

"What's the matter, Sam?" asked the medic. "You should be feeling a bit better now. Bumblebee is giving you refined fuel from his own systems. It is similar to the process of donating blood."

Sam looked over and saw a flexible metal tube connecting his left arm and Bee's right. "Yeah, I'm not feeling shaky anymore."

"You two do seem to enjoy finding reasons to be attached to one another," the rescue bot said, his voice enigmatic. "We will keep the shunt in place until you can refine fuel on your own. In the meantime, I'll need to you take small sips of fuel periodically to see if your system accepts it."

"Great," Sam said. "So I get to keep barfing until whenever that is. Am I, like, some new breed of Autobot? The Pukinator 5000?"

A corny, vintage laugh track burst unexpectedly from Bumblebee's speakers, in what seemed to be almost like a hysterical release of tension. Sam found the yellow bot's hand with his own, squeezing it gently as he had wanted to do before.

"Optimus, we should leave these two to get some rest," said Ratchet. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Of course, Ratchet, let's just head outside."

The two larger Autobots left the makeshift building, leaving him alone with Bee.

For a long time they lay quietly, staring up at the ceiling, fingers intertwined.

Finally, Sam reluctantly let go of Bee's hand, and rolled over onto his side towards him, careful of the tube in his arm, expecting it to hurt like the IVs he'd had when he was human, but to his surprise it was painless. As he stretched out his legs beside Bumblebee's, it sank in that that they were no longer so different in size, and were now, in fact, about the same. He also noticed that his midnight blue paint, even scratched up as it was, looked awesome next to the bright, sunshine yellow. Or was it the bright sunshine yellow that looked awesome next to his midnight blue? Next to him.

He shook his head, continuing to take stock. As for the rest of himself, it was hard to tell. Except for the colour, his legs, arms and chest didn't look especially different from Bumblebee's to him, although they were perhaps a little thicker and broader. He wondered how long it would take before he would be able to recognize this body as his own when he looked at it.

Bumblebee didn't move as Sam continued his appraisal, stunned by how strange it all was. Briefly, in the frantic activity that had come in the wake of his illness, he remembered hearing Bee's voice. "I can't lose him," Bee had said. "Not again." This amazing, ancient, powerful being who had once been able to crush him with a single finger had sounded so vulnerable. The pain in the words had made the area behind Sam's new optics ache in the precursor of tears that he was no longer physically capable of shedding.

"Bee, Ratchet told me..." What he would have said was cut off as strains from Bon Jovi's 'Bad Medicine' suddenly emerged from the yellow bot next to him.

_ "I ain't got a fever got a permanent disease  
It'll take more than a doctor to prescribe a remedy"_

Bee's optics were flickering, his body trembled.

"Yes, I think I realize... There is no going back for me now, is there?"

Wordlessly, Bee shook his head.

"I know I hurt you, I know a lot of things have been going on, and I know you can't talk about them just yet, but they must have been really, really bad... Ratchet said there are things you need to heal from as well as me. I... I just wanted you to know that I'm here for you, okay, buddy? No matter what, you'll always be my car, and I'll be your, err..." He had been about to say 'human'. "Bee, do I even transform into anything?"

"Yes, Sam," Bee said, a weak smile in his voice.

It touched Sam profoundly, and he realized just how much he missed the happiness in his friend's voice. He modulated his own tone playfully, trying to convey that he was pouting - which wasn't entirely an act, he was pretty damn curious - and hoped it would pay off. "Well?"

A sweet inflection of mischief rewarded him as Bee asked: "Well what?"

"Aren't you going to tell me what it is?"

There was a brief pause, before a mellow reggae beat started coming from Bee's speakers, and then:

_ "Piece of shit car  
I got a piece of shit car  
That fuckin' pile of shit  
Never gets me very far"_

Sam groaned. "I suppose I deserve that after what I said about your original design." He rubbed at the scratched blue metal of his leg. "It doesn't look too far off the mark either."

"The damage is superficial only, and can be fixed with paint and polish. Your vehicle mode is quite visually appealing," Bumblebee told him smugly.

"So what _is_ it, Bee????" Sam demanded, abandoning all attempts at levity in favour of the very real frustration he felt.

"Get well and you can find out for yourself." A certain, obstinate angle of the head told Sam that he was not going to get any further with this line of questioning, and he lay back in defeat.

"I'm trying, Bee."

"I know you are, Sam."

The pause in the conversation this time wasn't quite as awkward as before, but Sam still felt a need to fill the silence. "Say, I was just thinking of something... you guys can hear radio transmissions and stuff, right? And use the Internet?"

"Yes."

"Why can't I do that?"

"Ratchet turned off all the systems that would be unfamiliar to you," Bee told him, patiently. "Your processor was overloading, it still thinks it is human."

"Processor?" Sam asked, confused. "What do you mean? I figured you guys took my brain and put it in here or something... That's what you did, right?"

"We didn't do anything," Bee told him in a small, heartbreakingly hopeless voice. "Implanting an organic brain into a Cybertronian body has never been attempted before by anyone to my knowledge."

"Then how am I...? Why am I...?"

"I'm sure Ratchet has some theories, but he's been too busy taking care of you to really look at finding answers. All I know is that three days ago we got reports of a vehicle with no driver behaving suspiciously and the military asked us to check it out in case it might be another Autobot or a new Decepticon. What we found was you... It's lucky you were not in the city at the time, or there might have been a lot more questions asked."

"Bee..." Sam had a suspicion, it caused all the muscle cables in his body to clench, and that thing in his chest to lurch again as he rose up on the table. "What happened to my human body?"

"Sam," Bee grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly. "These thoughts are not wise at this time, please try to remain calm."

He could feel the edge of panic like he had felt before returning again. He wanted answers, but he didn't want to go back into that... whatever it was that had happened before, that had lead to his fingers wrapped around Bee's throat. He forced himself to lie back down, and clear his mind, looking for something else to think about. Somewhere in his upper body, there was a sound like a fan switching on.

"Bee, when I woke up before, or rather, before I woke up, I was in a place, and you were there with me, talking to me..." _Making me feel the most amazing pleasure I've ever known._ "You said it was a dream, but it was real, wasn't it?"

"Yes, Sam, I am sorry I lied to you," Bee apologized, "but at the time it was for the best. Ratchet had to put the memory blocks in place to keep you from hurting yourself, and my job was to distract your thoughts and keep you calm so that he could work."

"It was distracting alright," Sam put his free hand behind his head and felt a strange heat fill his face and chest, almost as if he were blushing.

"For me as well. I wanted to explore your thoughts with you, and share mine, but I couldn't let you get too close or you might have downloaded the information from me that Ratchet was trying to block. But you overcame my efforts and found out anyway, at least the part about your new body..." Bee's voice took on the warmth of admiration. "You would make a very effective interrogator."

"Interrogator?" Visions of some of the old history films he had seen popped into his head. "You mean like torture and stuff? No way!"

"Do you really think Optimus Prime would condone torture?" Bee asked. "Autobots use subterfuge and distraction to outsmart our opponents. If you could learn to consistently do what you did to me, you would be able to plug yourself into an enemy and convince them to give up all their secrets without harming them in any way..." It was the yellow Autobot's turn to roll over, facing Sam. "But I don't think I would like the idea of you in anyone else's processor but mine."

Sam stared up at the yellow bot, who returned his gaze with optics that grew steadily brighter. "Bumblebee, are you... jealous?"

He saw Bee stretch luxuriously, like a large and contented yellow cat. "Anyone would be, who had experienced what you can do..."

A memory flashed across his thoughts, the indelible presence of Bee, crying out his name voicelessly in surrender. His eyes - or rather his optics - cut out for a moment, unbidden. "Does that mean you'd like to do it again?"

"Yes." Bee said simply. "Once you're ready and I don't have to try to hide things from you. I want to give myself to you completely without holding anything back."

"That sounds pretty serious," Sam said.

"It is." Bumblebee paused, as if to collect himself. "Sam... what happened between us before shouldn't have happened. You were unwell, and all I was supposed to be doing in your mind was comforting you, but the instant your thoughts touched mine I couldn't resist... That was why Ratchet was so angry. I could have jeopardized your mental stability by giving in to my own needs. Also, what we did was a very intimate act, and I didn't ask your permission to take it further."

"So you're saying that, for want of a better word, that we were having sex in my head?"

"Yes."

"Of course we were. Oh my god." Sam covered his face. Now it all made sense.

"I know what I did was unforgivable. I don't blame you for not wishing to be close to me any longer," Bee sounded forlorn beyond all measure.

"Of course I want to be close to you, Bee! If you were in my head you saw how I felt, I don't think it's possible to lie during something like that..."

"It is difficult, but not impossible."

"You're the one that's impossible!" Sam exclaimed. "Stop it, okay, Bee? Just listen, and let me explain. What's bothering me is that we were having sex - "

"We call it interfacing," Bumblebee prompted.

"Interfacing, right... and it was feeling so great, and then out of the blue I go nuts, start screaming, and rip out what seems to me like the equivalent of your pe - "

"It's called an interface cable, and unlike the portion of human anatomy I believe you are referring to, it is easily replaced," Bee assured him. "Though I won't claim the experience was fun."

"Damn, Bee!" Sam muttered ruefully, "Ratchet's right, we are quite a pair."

Bumblebee's answer was to snuggle closer to Sam, activating his speakers again.

_"__Your love is like bad medicine_  
_Bad medicine is what I need_  
_Shake it up, just like bad medicine_  
_There ain't no doctor that can_  
_Cure my disease"_

* * *

The songs quoted in this fic are "Piece of Shit Car" by Adam Sandler (which is now stuck in my head - grr) and "Bad Medicine" by Bon Jovi. 


	4. Chapter 4

Author's note:

See end of fic for author's notes.

* * *

Brainwaves part 4 

Sam took a cautious sip of gasoline, then passed it back to Ratchet, staring in trepidation at the large fuel barrel the medic had given him to use as a receptacle. The cycle of consume and purge had gone on for almost two days, leaving him wondering if it was ever going to end.

He turned off his optics and counted to ten, then twenty, then thirty, then all the way to one hundred, as Bumblebee sat beside him, watching anxiously.

Nothing happened.

After a moment of disbelief, he turned his optics back on. "Am I... cured?"

"Hardly," Ratchet answered, with a pneumatic-sounding grunt. "But I do believe your fuel crisis may be at an end."

"Thank god!" Sam said, fervently. "No offence, Bee, but, much as I appreciate what you've done for me, I think it's about time we cut the umbilical cord."

"Not so fast, Sam," said Ratchet.

"Ratchet, come on!" Sam pleaded. "You guys keep talking about how important it is for me to get used to my new body. How am I supposed to do that sitting around here?"

"Well, your systems _do_ need testing," the rescue bot allowed. "Maybe it would be good if Bumblebee took you for a walk outside."

"A walk?" the newest Autobot replied, aghast. "What's the point of being a car if you expect me to _walk _everywhere?"

Ratchet's optics twinkled. "You could test your transformation cog at the same time."

"Transformation cog?" Now that sounded a lot more promising! Sam couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice. "Does that mean what I think it means?"

"Yes it does, but you have to stay close, I haven't activated your weapons systems yet and I want to make sure you're in top form before I let you loose on the world armed and dangerous..."

Sam wanted to roll his eyes, but failing that he tilted his head to one side. "Yes, Dad!"

"Okay then, let's get you two separated..." Ratchet went to fetch a tray of instruments. The last time the medic had worked on him he was too ill to care, but now he eyed the array of tools with apprehension.

"So where are we, anyways?" he asked, somewhat relieved as the greenish yellow Autobot started working on Bumblebee first.

"In the desert," Bumblebee told him. "Do you remember how we had been talking about beginning construction on an Autobot base in case the others arrive?"

"I think so," Sam said, looking around the building again. Even granted the dubious appellation of 'base' it did not become any more impressive looking. "So this is it, huh?"

"No, this is the just the emergency shelter we erected," said Ratchet with huffy dignity, tweaking a cable back under Bumblebee's armour plating and turning his attention to Sam's arm, making a quick weld and removing a clamp that had been holding the fuel line closed as he worked. "We needed somewhere to look after you. It's not much, but it keeps out the rain, and prying optics, er, eyes... Of course the nearby military base makes sure we don't get much of the latter. Nobody is allowed to approach this area without a high level clearance. The cover story is that it is some sort of missile testing range. Ironhide is, of course, very happy to give the story some veracity by blowing things up whenever he is able."

Ratchet inspected the arms of both his patients and put his tools back on the tray. "That should do it. Bumblebee, you can take him outside. I'll just make sure everything is put away and then I'll be along in case you need any help with the transformation sequence."

Moments later, Sam was up on his own two feet, strolling into the bright Nevada sunshine, Bumblebee at his side.

Optimus and Ironhide stood on a patch of flattened sun-baked dirt that seemed to be what passed for a road, conversing in low vocalizations that Sam still didn't understand. They looked up as the two smaller Autobots approached.

"Why, hello there, Sam!" Optimus called, warmly. "It's great to see you up and around."

"Oh, I'm up alright," Sam said a little dizzily, feeling very "up" indeed as he took in his surroundings and the fact that everything seemed to be a lot smaller than his mind told him it ought to be. A stand of scraggly trees in the distance, that once would have towered over his human form, were now at about optic level, and looked more like a crop of overgrown broccoli than anything resembling a forest.

"Greetings, Sam," Ironhide intoned gruffly, a slight wariness to his stance as he fingered his guns. "I don't suppose Ratchet thought to turn your weapons online yet, has he?"

"No, not yet." Sam said, seeing the weapon specialist visibly relax.

"Well, I was looking forward to some target practice, but it's probably best if we make sure all your glitches are worked out first. Don't worry, when the time comes I'm gonna teach you everything I know."

"That'd be great," Sam said politely. "But in the meantime, you know, there is still lots to be done. I'm supposed to test out my transformation cog, whatever that is, but what I really want is to get a look at myself, you know, see if this new robot thing isn't an improvement over my old ugly mug... But I guess, uhhh... I guess they don't make 16 foot tall mirrors, huh?"

"I can help with that," said Ratchet, emerging behind them into the sunlight. "I have a scan of your schematics." There was a nearly imperceptible whirr as the medic activated his holographic projectors.

"Whoa!" Sam took an involuntary step back as an unfamiliar robot appeared in front of him. The robot was marginally shorter and slightly wider than Bumblebee, with the body structure that seemed to be typical of his Autobot friends: an oddly artistic jumble of gears and hydraulics, accented by splashes of coloured - in this case dark blue - armour plating. The internal workings were a slightly darker metal colour, almost black.

Sam realized he was having difficulty bringing himself to look directly at the robot's faceplate, to see the new countenance that was going to be his for the remainder of his new life. He'd had almost eighteen years to accustom himself to his human face, watching as it grew and changed from child to almost adult, and now he had to somehow assimilate in a matter of seconds a totally alien change of appearance. _It's just another robot, Sam,_ he thought, trying to psych himself up, _go ahead and look, I bet it's really cool._

He turned his gaze towards the face, looked away immediately, and then forced himself to look back, to see, really see, and try to accept what he saw.

The new robot had narrow, sculpted black features, capped by a blue, helmet-like structure, that seemed to be partially grafted onto the dark metal of his visage, slanting blue marks delineating what almost looked like cheekbones. The midnight and obsidian colours provided an interesting foil for amber-orange optics that seemed to blaze in startling contrast out of the dark face. The mouth was so small as to be almost non-existent - no wonder he'd made such a mess with his first robotic "meal".

"Well..." he said after a moment, "I look like an alien robot, alright." He had no other frame of reference for judging his appearance, other than that it seemed cool-looking in an abstract, science fiction sort of way. He wondered what the others thought. Was he considered plain? Devastatingly handsome? Average? Or downright ugly? Upon reflection he found that he could at least decide that he was better looking than any of the Decepticons he had seen, so he supposed that was something. In comparison to the robots who stood around him now, he wasn't so sure. The only definite conclusion he could reach about Autobot aesthetics was that Bee's face was beautiful, because it belonged to someone he cared about so much.

He realized he had turned from the holo image to stare at the aforementioned face, finding it much more reassuring to look at then the depiction of the one he now wore. A familiar warmth kindled in his chest, making him feel even more awkward as he asked, "So do you have any scans of my car form, Ratchet?"

He was relieved when the vision of the blue robot disappeared, and a smallish, dark blue SUV appeared in its place.

"An SUV," Sam muttered in disbelief. "Let me guess, my robot name is going to be 'Rollover'."

"A search of the Internet revealed that you transform into a vehicle called a Suzuki Grand Vitara," said Bumblebee. "My subsequent research has determined that it is a reliable vehicle with a good reputation."

"_My_ research has determined that it is a pain in the tailpipe to obtain parts for foreign-made vehicles," the greenish yellow medic quipped. "Of course being Cybertronian now, many of your parts will have to be custom-fabricated in any case."

"I think it is a fine vehicle mode," Optimus chimed helpfully, "don't you, Ironhide?"

"Uhhh, yeah, sure Optimus..." the black Autobot agreed.

"So how do I do this whole transformation thing?" Sam asked.

"I just crouch downwards and suddenly..." Bee crouched in illustration as parts began flipping themselves this way and that until his familiar yellow Camaro form stood in his place. "I'm a car." He transformed back to his bipedal form. "You try now."

Sam crouched expectantly. Nothing happened. He bounced up and down. Nothing happened. He leaned forward and did a push-up. Nothing happened. He did a one handed push-up. Nothing happened. He came back into a crouch. Nothing happened. He bounced some more. Nothing happened. He stood up again, and, of course, nothing happened. After throwing in a few jumping jacks for good measure he shrugged. "It doesn't seem to be working."

"I could remotely activate your transformation cog," Ratchet offered, "but it would be better if you figured it out on your own."

"I'm not sure what to say that would help you, Sam. Transformation is pretty instinctive," Optimus said, effortlessly folding himself into his truck mode in illustration.

"Instinct..." Ironhide mused, getting a glow in his optics that didn't look at all promising. "I bet I know what'll make him transform." The hulking black Autobot cocked his weapons meaningfully.

Optimus quickly reverted to robot mode. "Uhh, Ironhide, maybe that isn't such a good - "

A line of low calibre rounds strafed the ground leading up to Sam's feet, but the only instinct it activated was one common to all sentient beings that caused him to dive out of harm's way. He slid across the barren landscape like a baseball player trying to reach home plate, skittering to a stop at Ratchet's feet amidst huge clouds of dust.

" - idea," the blue and red Autobot leader finished, putting his hand over his optics with a martyred sigh that sounded like the air brakes of his vehicle mode.

Sam tapped his fingers irritably on the ground. "Thanks a lot, Ironhide, that helped _so_ much."

"Ehheheheheh..." Ironhide's chuckling died down as he saw the rest of the team staring at him in horror. "Sorry about that, Sam."

"Perhaps we are looking to activate the wrong instinct," said Bumblebee, but before Sam could ask what he meant...

"Tag! You're it!" The blow impacted Sam's back with a hollow metallic thud, and his mind with a jolt of surprise. The heavy rhythm of running robot feet was followed by the clatter-click of transformation, and the challenging rev of an engine.

Sam turned around just in time to see a yellow Camaro racing away.

"What are you waiting for? Go get him, Sam!" Optimus encouraged.

Sam pulled himself to his feet and took off across the barren landscape after Bumblebee's retreating form. Running at least seemed to be something his body could to do without prompting. The feeling of it was amazing as he realized how much ground he covered with each gigantic stride, felt the reverberation each time one of his feet touched down and pressed off, accenting just how massive he had become.

He was a giant robot, and right now it felt pretty damn awesome indeed!

Bumblebee seemed to be losing ground, but he honked his horn defiantly and put on a burst of speed, kicking up a huge cloud of dust.

The former human continued his pursuit, realizing he needed to be faster. _Come on,_ he exhorted himself, _change! Transform! _He looked for words that would make his new systems understand and obey his wishes. _Take on the outer shape of a car!_

He was getting slightly closer to Bee again, and he thought maybe he could slow him down some other way. Sam had never been cut out to be a football player, but that was before he'd gotten this advanced new body. Maybe this time tackling would actually work?

Marshalling all his new-found strength he took a mighty leap into the air...

...and hit the dirt, four tires squealing.

"Yes! Yes! YES!" His spirit, already buoyed by his success, positively exploded with the exhilaration of thundering across the rugged terrain in his new form, the advantages of which became quite apparent as he easily negotiated several difficult obstacles.

He caught up to Bumblebee, who seemed to be slowing down slightly now that his primary goal had been achieved.. "Bee, it feels incredible! I had no idea!"

"You did it, Sam!" Bee shouted. The triumphant crescendo of the theme from _Chariots of Fire_ blared out of his speakers as blue SUV and yellow Camaro rode side by side in a victory lap before looping back around towards the others.

* * *

Author's Notes: 

Yay! Sam did it! And now you know what he transforms into and what he looks like.

I decided on Sam's altmode when I came upon a Suzuki x90 (little two-seater SUV) in the parking lot and decided it was really cute, unfortunately when I looked up the vehicle sizes on the Web and cross-referenced them with what I knew of Bumblebee's sizes, I determined that the x90 would make Sam way too short for my tastes. I wanted him to be at least around the same height as Bumblebee. Then my eyes lit upon the Grand Vitara, and it looked just right. It wasn't an overly flashy vehicle, but being an SUV it had just the right sort of heroic, cute, yet boy next door quality I thought would suit Sam perfectly.

Here's the totally non mathematical way I determined Sam's robot mode height:

Bumblebee stats (2008 Camaro):  
Vehicle length: 15.1 feet  
Vehicle height: 4.41 feet  
Robot mode height: 16.1 feet

Sam (2007 Suzuki Grand Vitara):  
Vehicle length: 14.5 feet  
Vehicle height: 5.93 feet  
Robot mode height: 15.9 (totally pulled out of the air after eyeballing the stats above) 


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Notes:

(See end for Author's Notes)

* * *

Brainwaves (part 5) 

Sam's systems activated. It wasn't a gradual shift as it would have been in his human body, the painfully slow, groggy drag to full awareness, but instead an immediate sense of being awake and refreshed and able to take on the world.

The first thing he noticed was his internal chronometer, which told him it was ten-thirty in the morning. After his successful transformation systems test yesterday Ratchet had turned on a few more of the new Autobot's functions, minor systems that the medic thought the former human would have an easier time getting used to. Sam was feeling his confidence grow quickly, so he thought nothing of suggesting that the yellow-green repair specialist activate his capability to listen to radio broadcasts, maybe just the human broadcasting range to start. It had seemed such an innocent thing to ask for, so he had been surprised at the weighty silence that had followed his request, and the abrupt refusal seconds later, with no explanation.

He was getting tired of this. The meaningful pauses, the way certain conversations were carried on in Cybertronian rather than English, or, when he had casually remarked on the fact, were not carried out at all. Instead, long hushes would insinuate themselves throughout the ramshackle building, even when everyone was present. It didn't take a genius to figure out that they were still talking, but in a way they hadn't allowed him to experience yet.

He missed being around humans. While they could still talk behind his back, it was also a lot easier for them to slip up. Which brought him to the second thing to reach his awareness.

There was shouting outside, shouting in English, and one voice sounded very human, and very familiar.

Hurriedly he transformed out of his vehicle mode - Ratchet had recommended he spend a recharge cycle in his alternate form to get used to how it felt - and left the building as quietly as was possible for an alien robot as tall as a house. Something, or someone, had gotten his Autobot friends riled up, and the possibility of actually, finally, finding out what was going on was too good to pass up.

Of course the robots knew he was coming, they had super advanced hearing - yet another ability they hadn't seen fit to grant him yet - and shut up almost immediately, but the human they were talking to had no such ability, nor, it seemed, any more idea than Sam did why there would be a need for such discretion.

"...worried about you and wanted to show our support because this time has been difficult for all of us. I figured you guys would be HAPPY to see someone who had fought at your side, someone who had BLED at your side, someone who risked his fucking LIFE at your side -"

"Captain Lennox," Optimus' smooth voice tried to interrupt the tirade of the olive clad human standing near his foot. "Will... We appreciate your visit, but, as we stated in our e-mails, we could not guarantee the safety of humans at this time due to the instability of our ailing comrade."

"Dammit, Optimus, I'm a soldier, and I understand that your unit comes first, but for the love of Christ, can't you at least send someone to see Mikaela?! She has no one to talk to, no one who understands what she's been through, and she's really hurt that not one of you, and especially not you, Bumblebee," the soldier turned, pointing a finger at the yellow bot, "has bothered to contact her since the day of the - "

What he would have said next was cut off as Optimus suddenly turned around, looking directly at Sam. "Go back inside."

"But Optimus," Sam stammered in confusion, "I just wanted to..."

"Ratchet, escort Spike back inside," Optimus ordered the medic.

"Yes, sir," said the search and rescue vehicle, crossing to Sam and grabbing the smaller bot by the shoulder, dragging him back towards the shelter.

"Spike?" Sam tried to struggle out of the medic's grip, but the taller bot was far too strong. "Ratchet, what...?"

"Now is _not_ the time," the medic informed him tightly.

In the background Optimus had resumed speaking, his tone formal and distant. "Thank you for personally delivering the supplies we requested, Captain Lennox. Next time please adhere to protocol and leave them near the drop off point unless you are explicitly invited to proceed further. Ironhide, please transform and escort the Captain back to the checkpoint."

"I can show myself out. Thank you _so_ much!" was the sarcastic reply. There was the sound of a vehicle starting up and driving away.

When they got inside, Ratchet pushed Sam down onto the repair table, and when the blue bot tried to get up, the medic pushed him down again. "Sit. Optimus wants a word with you." The medic left the building and a moment later the Autobot leader walked in to stand in front of Sam, hands on his hips as he regarded the fledgling robot sternly.

"Never question my orders again," the flame patterned robot said, his voice quiet yet unyielding. "They are intended to keep everyone functional."

"Yes, sir," Sam replied dismally, reeling inside at how cold and distant Optimus seemed. He hugged himself, feeling very alone as the blue and red robot left.

A short while later Bumblebee sat down next to him with a soft clank.

"I don't get it..." Sam muttered, his chest aching, optics burning, feeling certain that if he had been human he would have been crying right now. There was something to be said for this new body, since it seemed to save him the embarrassment of showing certain feelings, even if he still felt them. "Why was he being so mean?"

"Optimus knows what he is doing. When it is time you will understand."

"When?" Sam slammed his fist onto the table and got up, pacing back and forth. "When will it be time? Do you think I am a moron? Do you think I don't know that you're talking about me behind my back? Oooh, big secret, can't tell the new guy, he's too weak, he's too fragile... I am so fucking tired of this! And another thing, what the hell was Will talking about with Mikaela? Oh wait, never mind, I know... you can't tell me! That's the reason Optimus got rid of Will, isn't it? Because he knows something, something that you obviously don't want me knowing!"

"Sam, please calm down," Bumblebee begged, optics flickering in agitation. "You have been doing so well, everyone is so proud of you, especially Optimus - "

"Coulda fooled me!"

" - but if you upset yourself you could undo everything good that you've accomplished so far. Please, I'm asking you to trust us. Just a little longer."

The mysterious, aching sadness was back in the Camaro's voice, and Sam felt himself relenting. "Can't you at least tell me why you keep looking at me like that?"

A helpless garbled squeak came from Bumblebee's vocal processors. There was a hiss of static and the yellow bot's radio clicked on:

_"You rise like a wave in the ocean  
And you fall gently back to the sea  
Now I want to know how to hold you  
Return to me_

_You shine like the moon over water  
And you darken the sky when you leave  
Now I want to know how to keep you  
Return to me  
Turn to me  
Return to me"_

"Return to you?" Sam asked. "Bee? What are you talking about? Bumblebee?" The yellow bot didn't answer, merely cradled his head in his hands as a deep shudder wracked his frame.

"Bee, I didn't leave you, and I'm not about to go anywhere." Sam knelt in front of the trembling bot. "Hey now, hey now, look at me... I'm right here."

Bee lifted his head, the normally brilliant light of his optics dim and washed out. Slowly he stretched out one finger, tracing it with painful slowness over Sam's new face. "You don't know how lucky you are that you don't remember..."

"I want to remember," Sam insisted fiercely. "No matter how terrible it might be, I _wan_t to remember, because I can't stand seeing you in so much pain, knowing you won't tell me why." He intended merely to hug the other bot, but as their faces drew closer, he suddenly found himself pressing his unyielding mouth against Bee's.

Metal rasped on metal, unable to gain purchase without lips, or articulation without moving jaws, yet trying hard all the same as sensors thrummed, unexpectedly piqued. They were not designed for kissing, but Sam gave it his best shot, forcing the tip of his robotic tongue out of his small aperture to trace the circular seams of Bumblebee's oral zone. It was an awkward caress, but Bee didn't seem to care as Sam found himself desperately seized and pulled closer still.

The blue bot tried to balance himself by placing his hands on his friend's thighs, only to get thrown for a loop by the open concept design. Fingers that were meant to rest instead slid beneath the yellow plating with innocent, accidental sensuality, brushing across things that vibrated and pulsed, mechanical, metallic, yet undeniably alive. Bee's head fell back with a tinny moan of surprise, and the answering digits that worked their way beneath Sam's shoulder armour had nothing of innocence about them, and everything of intent.

Sam had no idea what Bee was doing to him. He could feel parts of him he had no name for being delicately pinched, and smoothly caressed, manipulated with exquisite gentleness, and ruthless precision until he fell against Bee, arms no longer able to give him even token support. His mind, referenced so deeply by his former humanity, struggled to process how the sensations he was receiving could create such bliss when he was not being touched anywhere that was supposed to be even remotely erogenous.

He was so engrossed he never heard Ratchet approach.

"Bumblebee, when you two are done, maybe you can check out some of the supplies the government sent - "

"Gah!" Guiltily Sam tried to spring away from Bumblebee, but was held fast, forced to endure, in squirming awkwardness, the continued ministrations of Bee's very talented fingers.

" - it says one of these things is a scratch remover," the Autobot medic went on, seemingly oblivious to the display of robots in flagrante delicto. "Since the damage to his paintjob is purely superficial, perhaps we won't have to strip and repaint Sam right away."

"That would be a relief," Bee answered, as unfazed about being caught as Ratchet seemed to be about having done the catching. "I don't mind doing it if it is necessary, but right now giving him a wash and a polish would be much more to my liking..."

"Bumblebee!" Sam wailed, "let me go right now!"

"Don't worry, Sam," said Ratchet, using what seemed to be a universal catch phrase of medics not only the world, but the universe over, "it's nothing I haven't seen before. You both can go ahead and have fun, just keep your plugs behind your panels until I give Sam a clean bill of health!" With that cheerful admonition, the yellow-green bot left the building.

Bee hummed softly to himself and tried to resume what he was doing, but Sam remained unmoving.

"I hate to break it to you, Bee," the blue bot said, "but that was a total mood-killer. Why wouldn't you let me go?"

"Because you were interpreting the situation as a human would. Pleasure is not something to be ashamed of or hidden. We were doing nothing wrong."

"I guess you're right," Sam said. "A lot of what people do doesn't really make a lot of sense, does it?"

"I understand human reasoning, in a lot of cases," said Bumblebee. "What I don't understand is their persistence in holding on to ideas that are not beneficial to them. Some of your ideas about morality seem to do more harm than good to your collective psychologies." He carefully disengaged his fingers from Sam's shoulders before helping him up. "Well, since you are no longer 'in the mood', perhaps we can move on to the other activity Ratchet suggested? There's a water hook up out back."

Sam looked down at the scratched finish of his armour. He wouldn't exactly call himself vain, but he did like not feeling like something dragged out of the junkyard. "Sounds like a good idea. Just one more thing... When I was outside before, in front of Captain Lennox, why did Optimus call me 'Spike'?"

"Well, he couldn't very well call you Sam, now could he? Besides, when we reported you as a new Autobot to the government, they required a designation in order to register you. In your battle mode, you have spikes that protrude from your arms," Bee reached out, tracing Sam's forearm, "just along here. We found out the hard way that they make very formidable weapons in close quarters."

Sam didn't want to think about the dark fear that Bee's last sentence evoked, the idea that he had attacked his friends more than once. "Spike, huh? Spike the Autobot..." he mused, forcing humour into his voice. "Well, it sure beats 'Rollover'."

"Or 'Pukinator 5000'. You know, Optimus did say that if you didn't like your name, we could change it, so it's not too late," Bee offered. "We could call you 'Pukie' for short..."

"God no!" Sam laughed. "I think I can live with Spike. It works for me, somehow, that you guys picked my name. A new name for a new life... I guess I really have been reborn," he said, remembering the voice he had heard in his mind. It seemed like ages ago, even though it hadn't even been a week.

"So, are you ready for your wash, then, Spike?" Bee asked, playfully.

"Lead on, Bee old buddy..." Sam replied.

"Just don't be surprised if you find your 'mood' changes for the better," the Camaro warned, a heat in his voice that made Sam pretty sure that it would.

"I know you like car washes, but I didn't realize it was like _that_, Bee."

"Just wait 'til you feel the power nozzle..."

* * *

Author's Notes: 

Well, Sam is getting to be as frustrated as you are that he doesn't know what happened to him and nobody is telling him anything, and the Autobots are finding out that it's hard to keep a secret when the answers are hiding around every corner, just waiting to get out.

You guys are pretty smart, and I like that some of you are already guessing what may have happened, but I will neither confirm nor deny your allegations. It has been very difficult to stop giggling on some of my livejournal communities, so I think even I will be just as relieved as you are when everything is out in the open and can be dealt with by those involved.

And yes, Sam's Autobot name is a direct homage to the G1 cartoon series. I knew from the beginning that I just had to name him Spike.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Notes:

(See end of section for Author's Notes)

* * *

Brainwaves (part 6) 

Following Bumblebee, Sam left the building for the second time that day, but this time the other bots paid no notice to him, engaged in one of their ongoing Cybertronian conversations.

"Qn qrb snne srccnavep rc cqn znecry syftx V vebcryynu efe-bcfg bvetn qn trzn srtx feyven cqrc ovabc cvzn," Ratchet told Optimus. The repair specialist appeared to be giving some sort of report. "Bffena fa yrcna qn vb pfvep cf pnc cqafdpq. V cqvex qvb zveu vb overyyl bcrsyn nefdpq cf qreuyn cqn cadcq, gafivunu qn qrb snne gangranu snofan cqn syftx oartcdanb."

Optimus rubbed his chin. "Cqrc vb lfda gafonbbvfery fgvevfe, cqne?"

Ratchet nodded.

"Ufnb cqvb znre cqrc cqvb cvzn V jfe'c qrin cf gal qvz foo lfd, Sdzsynsnn, Gavzn, reu relcqvep nybn cqrc zfinb?" Ironhide muttered, flexing his guns irritably.

"Sorry to interrupt," said Bumblebee. "Ratchet, where did you leave those supplies we asked for?"

"They're back inside," said the medic, "in a crate right by the door, as you two would have noticed if you weren't so absorbed in each other."

"Right," Bumblebee turned around to go back inside.

"I can get it, Bee," said Sam.

"Alright, meet me around back."

Sam went back inside, finding the crate by the door where Ratchet left it. It was a very large crate, by human standards, and a medium sized one by Cybertronian standards. Inside were piled huge sponges, far too big for human hands, and - surrounded by wads of old newspaper for protection - enormous bottles which bore plain, black and white labels printed with the names of various automotive cleaners and polishes, suggesting they had been transferred from their original containers into larger ones more suited for handling by giant robots.

He picked up the crate with ease and left the building, walking around towards the back where he heard the sound of water running as Bumblebee tested the hose.

"Hey Bee, I've got the stuff. It's really amazing, they tried to make it all robot sized, look..." He set down the crate and went to pick up a bottle of cleanser, to show the yellow bot, when a wad of newspaper lifted off on the warm afternoon breeze, trying to blow away. "Not so fast, you," he said, catching the errant newspaper easily in a giant fist. He opened his hand, staring down at the bit of paper, and carefully unfolded it to reveal a two-page spread, marveling at how what used to take him two hands to hold and read could now be held in the palm of one.

His optics scanned the articles far faster than a human would have. It was local news, mostly about politics, the school system, employment rates, layoffs at a local high tech firm... the sort of thing he hadn't really paid much attention to in the past. He wasn't sure why he was so interested now, except that maybe he was getting a little stir crazy out here in the middle of nowhere with nothing but giant robots for company, despite the fact that he was now one of them.

He was just about to crumple the paper back up again when an article caught his attention.

_Inquest called after death on old Tranquility highway_

_A public inquest has been called to investigate the vehicle safety and inspection practices of Mayfly Moving and Storage Inc. after one of their moving vans was implicated in a fatality on the northbound stretch of the old Tranquility highway two weeks ago. The incident occurred when a strip of rubber from the left rear tire of one of the companies large capacity moving vans became detached, and was propelled at high velocity towards the windshield of the vehicle following behind. The driver of the vehicle, 18 year old Sam Witwicky of Tranquility, Nevada, was killed instantly, Witwicky's parents, also in the vehicle, miraculously suffered only minor injuries as the car swerved off the road into a ditch..._

Sam stared at the paper, unable to believe what he was seeing, wondering if it was some sort of sick joke. Bee said there had been an accident, that he had been incapacitated, which, even if the article was true, was also, technically, the truth. Being dead was being incapacitated - as incapacitated as a person could get.

"Sam? Are you going to transform so that we can get started?" Bumblebee asked, flicking him teasingly with a little water from the hose.

The blue bot didn't react, he was too busy staring at the scrap of paper in his hand. "I'm dead..." he whispered. "I died... I'm dead..." A slow, steady throbbing began in his temples.

Distantly he heard the water being shut off, felt Bumblebee carefully remove the scrap of paper from his hand before placing an arm around his shoulders, helping him to his feet, guiding him back around to the front of the building.

"Bumblebee?" Optimus asked, "What's wrong?"

"Ratchet, if you think he's ready to hear the truth, now is the time," said Bumblebee, grimly, holding up the scrap of newspaper that Sam had been holding. "He knows."

The yellow-green repair specialist glared, optics narrowing as he took in the contents of the newspaper, superior vision assessing its impact easily despite the small print. "After we worked so hard to block out all outside influences, a low tech piece of paper bites us in the aft..."

"I believe there is a human saying appropriate to this situation 'Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive'," Optimus intoned, tilting his head apologetically towards his newest Autobot. "I truly regret that this was necessary, Sam. You have been, and still are a valued friend and ally. We have tried our best to do right by you..."

"But if I'm dead, why am I still here?" The pain in Sam's temples began radiating outwards.

"Well, Ratchet has a very interesting theory..."

Whatever the Autobot leader would have said was drowned out as Sam let out a terrible howling scream, and fell to the ground, clutching his head.

"No time for theories," said Ratchet, after a quick scan of Sam's prone and writhing form. "I need to get him inside and restrained now. Ready or not, that memory block is coming down."

* * *

_Pain... fear... terror... dread.. Why am I here? What's happening to me?_

"Sam?" a warm, gentle voice reached out to him in the darkness.

"Bee?" Sam launched himself towards the sound of that voice, grappling instinctively onto the presence he found, clinging to it with all his might.

"I'm here. Do you know where you are?"

"We're... in my head again, I think, aren't we?"

"Yes."

"Are we going to have sex again?" he asked, hopefully, even though he knew, deep down what the answer was going to be.

"Not this time." There was a short pause. "I wish we were. Do you remember what was happening before you came here?"

_Oh my god I'm dead... oh god... I died... How am I still alive? I'm dead..._

"Yes, that's right." A faint edge of pain seemed to delineate the words of the other's reply.

"It hurts..." he said.

"I know," said Bee, simply. "I feel it."

_Blood red... agony... burning brain... death... pain..._

The former human reeled from the horrible sensations running through him, and had a distant, disturbing, yet oddly comforting sense of Bumblebee reeling right along with him.

Bee's voice was slightly weaker as it came back to him, as though it was fading away, through the dim corridors of Sam's besieged thoughts. "Sam, stay with me please. It's very important that you listen to me carefully. Ratchet says that the memory block is coming down now. In a little while, all your memories of what happened are going to come back. Some of them will be very distressing, but no matter what else you remember, I want you to remember this: you are not alone. I am here with you and I won't leave you, no matter how bad it gets. Do you understand?"

"Yes..." Sam said hesitantly. If Bee said he was staying, why was his voice getting to be so hard to hear?

He waited, hoping for some further communication from his friend, but there was only silence.

"Bee? Bee, are you there?" No answer.

"BEE!" He was standing on a lonely beach as a tidal wave of danger and despair crashed down on him; the cry tore itself from the depths of his being.

And then he was driving.

* * *

Sam was bored. Bored as only a teenager behind the wheel of the family sedan, en route to a mind-numbing family reunion full of dotty old relatives could be. "Putt, putt, putt..." he muttered, as they coasted along behind a moving van. 

"You're going the speed limit," his father said. "Isn't that enough? And watch your space cushion."

"Yes Dad," said Sam. "I did pass my driving test, I do remember what I'm supposed to do here." He chewed on his lip before getting to the crux of his disappointment. "This would have been a lot more fun if we had taken the Camaro. It's a newer car, less mileage..." Not to mention that Bumblebee had been beside himself over the idea that Sam would be out of his protection for two whole days, but Sam's parents had been resolute.

"It's also a gas guzzler," Ron Witwicky pointed out.

"Dear," said Sam's mother, more kindly, "we know you're so proud of that car the government gave you for participating in that study, but you can't take it everywhere with you like it's some sort of security blanket. There will come a time in your life when that car will be too old to run anymore, and you'll have to give it up for a new one. It's just an object, and objects can be replaced."

Sam snorted mentally, amused by the irony of his mother's words. Bee was a uniquely special sentient being, and would most definitely outlive them all by more years than a mere human could count. He knew he would never replace Bumblebee, no matter what, but he also knew there would come a time in the yellow robot's life - a time not so far away for someone who marked his age in what amounted to eons instead of years - when Bumblebee would have to find someone new to sit in the driver's seat.

"You're not going to sulk like this the whole way, are you?" asked his father irritably, pulling Sam from his thoughts.

"Ron, give him some space, he's probably still upset over breaking up with Mikaela," his mother interrupted. She had been looking forward to this reunion all year and was determined to keep things as positive as possible.

"We're still friends," Sam said. He didn't bother to add the reason that he was not especially upset, thank you very much, which was because of a little caveat known as 'with benefits'. He and Mikaela had dated formally for a few months, before they had finally been forced to admit that there was no romantic, lifetime commitment kind of spark between them. The fact had remained, however, that they got along great together and were still madly attracted to one another. So attracted, in fact, that they had 'celebrated' their break up by ridding Sam of his virginity, right in Bumblebee's back seat.

He felt a mix of delicious excitement and acute embarrassment over the memory; he still hadn't gotten around to apologizing to Bee for using him as a personal hotel room. Of course Bee hadn't brought it up either, but all the same, Sam promised himself he would talk to Bee when he got back. He would apologize, give him a good carwash, and then figure out a new place for his next get together with Mikaela.

Just the thought of another encounter with his wonderful, sexy no-longer-girlfriend made him feel good all over, and forget, for just a moment, that he was in a car bound for old people town with his parents.

Of course his father was quick to remind him. "Okay, first he's pouting and now he's smiling? What's with him?"

"Oh, leave him alone, Ron, it's just hormones. Speaking of hormones - " Judy Witwicky's voice took on that certain tone that Sam had learned to dread.

"Mom," he groaned in embarrassment, "if you mention 'Sam's Happy Time' again, so help me, I will crash this car right - Oh shit!" Sam wrenched the steering wheel with all his strength, but it was too late.

The windshield shattered into millions of razor sharp stars.

* * *

Author's notes: 

Finally some answers for you, after you have been waiting patiently for so long, but this is only the beginning of what I have to show you.

A note about the car accident in the newspaper article, I don't know if the mechanics of it were exactly the same, but it is similar to the way one of my cousins got killed. It was something involving the wheels of a truck, the driver was killed and the other passengers walked - very unlucky, or lucky, depending on who you were.

And finally, if you were curious about what Ratchet, Optimus and Ironhide were saying in 'Cybertronian', I translated the dialogue using one of those online secret message generators for kids. Here's what it actually says:

"He has been battering at the mental block I installed non-stop since he came back online that first time," Ratchet told Optimus. The repair specialist appeared to be giving some sort of report. "Sooner or later he is going to get through. I think his mind is finally stable enough to handle the truth, provided he has been prepared before the block fractures."

Optimus rubbed his chin. "That is your professional opinion, then?"

Ratchet nodded.

"Does this mean that this time I won't have to pry him off you, Bumblebee, Prime, and anything else that moves?" Ironhide muttered, flexing his guns irritably.

Well, that's it for now. See you next time!


	7. Chapter 7

**WARNING: ****This chapter contains GORE**. I think if you can handle watching CSI you can probably handle this, but I wanted to make sure you knew, and I provided a space cushion to prevent unwanted exposure. This chapter also contains character death, but I think that you probably suspected that it might.

Also, this chapter is very sad. How sad? I'm not sure, you'll have to tell me.

Apologies in advance for any emotional trauma inflicted.

Author's notes at end of fic.

* * *

Bringing 

home

my

baby

bumblebee

won't

my

mommy

be

so

proud

of

me

Brainwaves (part 7)

It all happened with merciful swiftness, the tire fragment speeding through tempered glass, flesh, and vertebrae with the ease of a well-honed executioner's sword. Terrified shrieking erupted as bright red blood sprayed the car's interior, and the vehicle left the road, and careening into a ditch.

The real cruelty came in the aftermath, with the iron taste of blood filling his nose and mouth, running down the side of his face from where he was hanging, upside down. He tried to scream through a ruined throat, without lungs, without voice, eyes rolling wildly as he took in the carnage. He could see his father, blood-spattered and groaning, trying to shake himself, as if to wake from a terrible nightmare. From her place in the back seat, behind his father, Sam could hear his mother sobbing weakly.

It felt like hours before his awareness faded, but in reality it was no more than a few seconds, long enough for his gaze to meet that of his horror-stricken father and to see his own imminent death reflected back at him.

It was the only time he could remember seeing his father cry.

* * *

The return of awareness surprised him. He found himself floating far above the ground, looking down on the shattered car below him. The fear and grief he had felt moments before, facing the sudden, appallingly violent end to his life seemed meaningless, even laughable now, now when he felt such peace. 

He watched a little more, purely out of curiosity, as emergency vehicles began arriving on the scene. Abruptly, the sense of peace left him, replaced by an urgency he couldn't name. The vehicles, he felt a strange pull towards them, but as he moved to investigate something held him back. No, they were not quite right. He began to drift slowly away from the highway, over stretches of dry grass and desert. He wasn't certain what he was searching for, only that he would know when he found it.

As he drifted further, multi-coloured shapes began to dot the ground below him, shuffling slowly across the landscape as they emitted soft mooing sounds. They were of no possible use to him. He continued onwards.

A short, almost featureless vehicle with large rear wheels squatted by itself in the middle of a field, a trailer behind it half-loaded with bricks of dried grass that he distantly remembered were called bales of hay. He drifted near the vehicle, feeling it reach out towards him, trying to draw him in, and he nearly found himself surrendering, but no, it too was wrong.

His strength was beginning to fade when at last he found it, like an oasis: warm, and dark blue and gleaming in the afternoon sun. He was so very tired, and collapsed gladly into its embrace.

His long ordeal was over at last. Finally, he could sleep.

His awakening didn't happen all at once, but gradually. He drifted in his slumber, sometimes fitfully, almost, but not quite coming to full consciousness, with a distant awareness of moving from place to place under another's direction. Things happened as if in a dream, sometimes around him, sometimes in him, and sometimes to him, but it didn't really matter. He was nothing more than a passenger in this shell, conveyed to and fro in meaningless routines that made no sense.

He wasn't exactly sure when he started taking control, it was all so gradual, so natural. It was just little things at first, like turning the key off in the ignition when he was feeling hot and bothered after being left idling for too long, or rolling up windows when an unexpected, late night thunderstorm drenched everything in its path. It progressed to steering wheel locks when he didn't feel like going anywhere, and stubbornly adhering to the speed limit even when a lead foot crushed his gas pedal to the floor, causing his engine to flood and require repairs.

Finally, one day, when he'd had enough of being controlled, he simply drove away.

He'd wandered the wilderness for days, a delirious vagabond, as information began to bombard him from all sides: broadcasts, signals, transmissions, voices all melded together into a screaming black noise that filled his head. The flood of input did nothing to help and everything to hinder him as he progressed in seemingly random iterations, looking for something, or perhaps not... It was difficult to be sure. Perhaps he searched for himself, because at present he did not know who he was, what he was, or even something as simple as where he was. All he could be certain of was that he, quite simply, was.

Then they had come, surrounded him, like him they had no controllers, like him they were alone. They had pulled themselves upwards out of their compact, deceitful forms, rising towards the sky, becoming somehow more, more than they seemed to be. Just as he was more than he seemed.

And in that moment he joined them, standing upright in the sunlight, and in its gleam he saw, for just a moment, a flash of yellow like a banner of hope, and experienced something familiar, something he had thought never to touch again.

A voice came from inside of him, the voice of a new beginning, hesitant, fearful, and totally alien, but tinged by a faint, lingering hope. "Bee?"

* * *

The memory around him faded, replaced by the shifting darkness of his mind. 

He was curled in around himself in a shuddering ball, lingering after images of the terrible things he had experienced flashing through him periodically like pains from a phantom limb.

_I was not killed instantly..._ The memory of his last moments appalled him as his imagination tried, without his consent, to reconstruct the state his body must have been in. _That thing... the piece of tire... oh god, that's why everything was upside down, it was hanging by a piece of skin... My head... It must have nearly taken my head right off..._

Shocked and sickened by his gruesome realizations, he suddenly felt himself enfolded as another, much larger shape loomed protectively around him. It was Bumblebee, but, where before the other bot had once radiated calm reassurance, he now clung to Sam as desperately as Sam held on to him, offering comfort, but also needing it desperately himself.

"Bee, why did you leave me? You said you wouldn't leave me alone..." He burrowed himself more tightly into his friend's presence, despite feeling the resounding echoes of his own anguish reflected within. Still, it seemed somehow less terrible now that they were together.

"I was always here," the other replied, in a small, terrified voice. "But I couldn't reach you, I couldn't touch you, all I could do was experience what you did as you relived..."

Sam experienced a pain that was not his own, the pain of helplessly watching as someone you cared about suffered. Or perhaps it was his own pain after all. The former human understood now why Bee had been behaving so oddly after his reawakening.

"It's my fault," Bee said, even more quietly than before, but the torment behind the words ripped through Sam with the force of a tornado. "I should have done something, I should have been more forceful, I should have insisted your family take me instead of that other car. I have faster reflexes, I would have avoided the projectile... you wouldn't have... died..."

All at once he saw Bumblebee, in Camaro form, sitting placidly in the driveway with the family sedan. The next instant, the yellow robot transformed, discharging his weapons again and again at the offending vehicle until it exploded in a ball of orange flame. Once upon a time Sam would have found the mental picture humorous, but not now, with Bee's desolate self-recriminations hanging between them like a noose.

"Bee, we have taken that same trip every year for as long as I can remember, and nothing ever happened..." He forced himself to push past his own agonies, sending a wave of compassion and understanding, but the force of Bee's determination to blame himself was too strong to be overcome so easily.

He remembered his words of before, he had sworn that he wanted to remember what had happened, if only so he could know why Bumblebee was so upset. Well, now he remembered, and now he knew; and now he was determined that he would help his friend.

Sam reached out, into the swirling mass of grief and self-hatred that surrounded Bee like noxious vapours. It was like sticking his hand into super-heated steam, scalding, harsh, and relentless. "Bee? It's time now..." he said

"For what?" Forlorn and aching, Bee's thoughts cringed and cowered away from Sam's attempt to touch them.

"We've shared my pain," he steeled himself for what he was about to say next, "and now we're going to share yours."

"Ratchet said I shouldn't flood you with my thoughts, he said..."

"FUCK RATCHET!" The vehemence of the thought surprised them both with its intensity, but Bee even more so, and he retreated further away. Sam forced himself to calm down, and cautiously approached his friend again. "Ratchet said you needed to heal as well as me. And to do that, you need to show me where it hurts."

"I can't..."

"Bumblebee, the hiding stops right now. Do you hear me? Right now. I don't care about Ratchet, I don't care about anyone else, all I care about is you..." Gently he reached out again, testing Bee's defenses. They were still strong, but there was an almost imperceptible give that hadn't been there before.

"Do you remember when we were lying on the table together? You said that you wanted to do this with me again... You said you didn't want to hide things from me, you said you wanted to give yourself to me completely without holding back... Well, to me, completely means everything, good and bad. Maybe we're not having sex right now, but I think we're doing something even more important. We're making love. I never really understood it before because I never experienced it, but now I have. Love means doing hard things, dealing with pain to help someone you care about, and I... I love you..."

Until now, he had always been aware of himself as a presence smaller than Bee's, as if each of their thoughts in this disembodied realm took shape from the forms they wore in the physical world. Now he felt himself swelling, expanding with his declaration of love as it burst within him, his inward presence growing to meet Bumblebee's on equal footing for the first time. No longer was he small, like a tiny seed that required nurturing and protection, instead, he was a towering tree in his own right, able to offer shelter beneath his leafy branches.

"And you don't need to tell me that you love me too because I know, I've _felt_ it. Don't shut me out. Give yourself to me, Bumblebee..."

"...alright..."

Such a quiet capitulation, and it left Sam totally unprepared for the impact of surrender. Images, concepts, thoughts, sounds, all tumbled through his awareness with the coherence of heartbroken sobbing. These were Bumblebee's tears, he realized.

Tears for him.

* * *

Holding with infinite care and downcast wonder, a rectangular wooden object between two yellow hands. The scale, to a human, would have been that of a small box one might use to bury a bird found dead in the backyard, but inside this box is not a bird. The broken body, though pale, has been carefully restored from its grievous injuries to such a perfect, artificial semblance of life that it is beyond cruel to look at it...

* * *

A funeral, broadcast on a top secret frequency by wireless cameras hidden in the church, while four vehicles lurk in a parking lot across the street, uninvited...

* * *

Watching the burial from a hilltop overlooking the cemetery. High tech senses ensure a clear picture and perfect sound for outsiders never counted among the mourners...

* * *

The overlook on a clear, starry night whose beauty no longer matters. Sitting there, looking down at yellow hands, remembering the intricacy of a tiny, waxen doll that had once been alive. 

A black truck pulls up, releases two passengers, and transforms to join the others keeping vigil.

"How is he?" Ironhide's gruff voice asks.

"The same." Ratchet's reply. "He still hasn't said a word."

"Bumblebee," Optimus says gently, "Mikaela and Captain Lennox are here."

Tiny fingers on his massive leg, a small, tired, grief-stricken face looking up into his own.

Pulling back, a transformation, and an open door, to the back seat, not the front, an invitation to get in.

She accepts, and it's all wrong, the weight, the scent, the height, the feel of hands on leather, it is not, it will never be... but it is somebody. Somebody who understands.

Soft conversation from the others drifts in through the open windows, but in the car the radio judders, because speaking, for him, is right now impossible.

_Time to say goodbye.  
Paesi che non ho mai  
veduto e vissuto con te,  
adesso sì li vivrò.  
Con te partirò  
su navi per mari  
che, io lo so,  
no, no, non esistono più,  
it's time to say goodbye._

"Please, Bumblebee," she begs in a watery voice, "not that song!"

_Just sweet sixteen, and now you're gone  
They've taken you away.  
I'll never kiss your lips again  
They buried you today_

Little fists ball on the seats, heart rate increases, stress hormones flooding, preparing for fight or flight. "Why are you doing this? Just stop, okay?"

_I close my eyes, only for a moment, and the moment's gone  
All my dreams, pass before my eyes, a curiosity  
Dust in the wind, all they are is dust in the wind  
Same old song, just a drop of water in an endless sea  
All we do, crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see_

A hard kick to the back of the seat. Door opens, slams shut. She flees into the night...

Only to be stopped by a large blue hand.

"Optimus, let me go! He won't stop playing those awful songs..."

"Mikaela, please don't be angry. Bumblebee is not trying to hurt you, he's simply too overwhelmed for speech right now, and he's trying to share his grief with you."

"I know, but those songs... I feel like I'm going to start crying again any second."

"Then perhaps you should. Mikaela, we Autobots can't weep, but we suffer the pain of loss just as deeply. The music is Bumblebee's catharsis as your tears are for you. Why should you grieve alone when you can comfort each other?"

She pauses, sniffling. "You're right... Sam would have wanted... would have wanted..." Her words dissolve into deep sobs, intensifying as she stumbles back towards the car, climbing back inside. "I'm sorry, Bumblebee," she cries, "You... you... go ahead and play whatever music you need to, okay?"

_Don't hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky  
It slips away, and all your money won't another minute buy._

_Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind  
Dust in the wind, everything is dust in the wind._

Captain Lennox drops a box of tissues onto the seat beside her, before retreating to the front of the car, placing his hand comfortingly on Bumblebee's shiny, yellow finish. The rest of the Autobots come closer, doing the same, until all are gathered around the grieving Camaro, and the weeping girl inside.

_Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind.  
_

* * *

Author's notes:

I have to do this in list form because I've shaken myself up a little writing this. Let's just say I drew on some very important personal experiences with death, and leave it at that, shall we?

1) Cause of death. In addition to the unfortunate accident that happened to my cousin (whom I didn't know very well, but thank you for your sympathies) I actually got this from a Mythbusters episode. They successfully decapitated a dummy with a piece of tire fired off from between two other tires.

2) Songs quoted in the fic:

- "Time to Say Goodbye", by Andrea Boccelli and Sarah Brightman - I know the lyrics, when translated, don't necessarily reflect death, but I listen to this song whenever I'm mourning a loss, and I find it really gets the emotions out where I can deal with them.

- "Teen Angel", by Mark Dinning - Yes, I know Sam's not 16, but you get the idea. And my parents used to complain about the depressing, emo songs of my generation...

- "Dust in the Wind", by Kansas - This is a totally beautiful song, but I can't listen to it unless I am both gleefully happy and totally hyped up on sugar, caffeine, and alcohol or I become a depressive wreck within seconds.

3) I'm probably missing something, but you all want to read the fic, not my rambling, wind-baggy author's notes so I won't sit on this chapter waiting until I think of whatever it was. ;)

4) Thanks for the reviews and support, they make the pain worthwhile. :)


	8. Chapter 8

Wow, sorry for the delay, people. I didn't mean for it to take this long, but this part kept going and going and I couldn't find a good place to cut it off. Also, for some reason my brain had decided to be incredibly foggy and no amount of tea was helping.

Warning: This chapter contains sex.

(Author's notes at end of chapter)

* * *

Brainwaves (part 8)

The torrents of information slowed, finally, to a trickle, and Sam's awareness returned to himself, to himself and to Bumblebee, locked together, in this twilight world where the whole universe lived in a single thought, and lifetimes passed between fingertips like grains of sand. He could feel himself, in his stupendous new form, cradling Bee against his chest, wrapping strand upon strand of consolation around him, as one might bandage a wound.

"I'm here," he whispered, "I came back to you... And now that I'm not soft and squishy you're going to have an even harder time getting rid of me."

"I hope so." There was a long, weary pause, and then a flow of relief. "Ratchet says your memory pathways are stable now. It's safe to disconnect."

Before Sam could say anything else, Bee's presence disappeared and he found his optics suddenly online once more. It was an experience reminiscent of his first awakening, in that he couldn't move, and faces were staring down at him, but unlike that first time, he had the sensation of his arms wrapped around something: a heavy, but reassuring weight that was cradled against his chest.

His optics scanned the faces, seeing Ratchet, Optimus and Ironhide. "Where's Bumblebee?"

"Right here," mumbled the heavy thing on Sam's chest.

"It was quite extraordinary," Ratchet said. "I'd put your motor functions offline as before, and you were lying quietly with Bumblebee sitting beside you, when suddenly you reached up, very calmly, and pulled him down."

"I guess I knew he needed a hug," Sam said, thinking of the distressing experiences they had both shared just moments before. He wished that they had been able to stay longer, that he'd been given more time to reassure Bee, then realized that he had been given more time: a lifetime; and the sooner he got on with living it, the better. "So, umm, Ratchet, not that I'm not enjoying this or anything, but could you, you know, turn my stuff back on so I can move again?"

"Your 'stuff'?" Ratchet repeated, dryly. "Of course, let me just turn your 'stuff' on for you..." He flipped something in Sam's neck and the former human found he could move again.

Sam gave Bumblebee a pat on the back and opened his arms, allowing the yellow bot to get up before pulling himself to a seated position as well. "What's the news?" he asked. "Am I okay now?"

"You seem to be, as far as I can tell," the medic said. "Especially given the situation." There was a brief pause. "Sam, I'm really sorry to have to broach such a painful topic so soon, but I need to know about your experiences. Specifically, do you remember anything from after the... accident?"

The former human nodded, grateful that Ratchet hadn't asked him to relate his whole story, since there were parts of it he preferred not to think about too closely - once was more than enough. It was somewhat less painful, at least, to recall the events that had happened after the end of his human life, muddled as they were in a haze of only partial self-awareness, but Sam spoke hesitantly as he explained the extraordinary happenings that had somehow led to this new existence. As he finished relating his tale, everyone was silent.

"This would seem to corroborate your theory, Ratchet," Optimus said, finally.

The yellow-green rescue bot nodded. "Yes, it's really quite strange. You see Sam, we think that, as you destroyed the Allspark, it created one last spark, but, rather than bonding to a machine and converting it, it instead bonded to you somehow, to what you, as a human, would have called your soul, the essence of what makes you who you are. We aren't exactly sure why this would have happened, there is no reason for a spark to seek out pre-existing organic life when its function is to create a new life all its own. Perhaps the spark was weakened somehow, due to being created almost in the same instant as the Allspark's destruction, and it looked for some way to strengthen itself, finding kinship in your soul, which, from everything I have read, seems to be a human's spark..."

"Please continue, Ratchet," said Optimus pointedly.

"Err, yes," the Autobot healer made a sound remarkably like clearing his throat. "In any case, Sam, I think the spark bonded with your soul and then went dormant. Then, when you... when your human body was damaged beyond repair, and your soul left your body, it carried the spark with it. Once released the spark became active and sought to fulfill its original function, which is to create mechanical life, and began searching for suitable technology to convert in order to do so. Normally such a conversion would have been instantaneous, with the new Cybertronian being similar to a human infant, in that it must learn and gain experience in order to develop the thoughts and traits that will characterize it as an individual. Your spark was different, because it already had a wealth of information available to it, courtesy of your human experiences, so conversion progressed much more slowly, as it had to not only create your body, but write all your memories in a compatible format. The fact that it seems to have done so successfully, preserving the person that you were before the conversion, is nothing short of miraculous."

"Wow," said Sam, trying to absorb what he had been told, what he had experienced in the world of his memories only moments before. He should have died. He _had_ died, but now, somehow, he was alive again.

He had never considered himself especially religious. Sure, he had done the whole Sunday school thing as a kid, and his parents had tried to keep up church attendance for a while, figuring it was their job to instil some sort of moral compass in their son. Eventually, those habits had just sort of faded away after he had gotten old enough to decide he preferred to sleep in on Sundays. All he had finally retained, beyond the comfortable familiarity of prayers and litanies, knowing when to stand and kneel, and that, once the service reached a certain point, it wouldn't be long before recession and the fellowship hour, when there was tea and coffee for the adults, and all the cookies and juice the kids could eat... Beyond all that was the thought that maybe there was something out there, outside human understanding, although he couldn't decide if it was truth or wishful thinking. Now he had, not exactly proof of such a thing, but definitely something that seemed to defy any other explanation he could think of.

"Sam?" asked Ratchet worriedly. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," he said. "I was just thinking that I'm really lucky to be alive."

"And we are extremely lucky to have you back," said Optimus, placing his hand on Sam's shoulder. "You were missed..."

"If I may," Ratchet said, "there are just a few more things that I want to cover. Sam, you are a full Cybertronian now, but you are completely unique thanks to your human heritage, and, while you seem to have survived the worst part of your transition, I am unsure of what, if any, issues you may face in the future. You see, your CPU scans still read as partially human. Of course you're still in the process of adapting, so that could change with time."

"Do you think the remnants of his humanity will cause any more problems?" Optimus asked.

"Sam will have to be closely observed, but at present I don't anticipate any," said the rescue bot. "There may, however, be some minor inconveniences. Sam, there is much unused data left over in your memory banks from your human existence, protocols for controlling the functions of your organic body, for example. There is no way to safely purge this information, but even if there were, I am not sure if I would recommend it - it's scientific value is beyond priceless..."

"Focus, Ratchet," Optimus said, gently.

"Right, yes, minor inconveniences. Owing to this leftover data, you may experience sensory 'ghosts' once in a while, feel things, or smell things, or taste things as you would remember them from your human life."

Sam thought for a moment. Compared to all he had survived recently, those things hardly seemed to be a major problem. "But that's it, right? No more going crazy and attacking everybody?"

"No, that part seems to be at an end. In fact, you appear to be doing so well, that if there are no more episodes in a few days, we can talk about training you in some of the more advanced aspects of your body, things like communication via radio signal, accessing the Internet, combat and weapons training..."

"That last part had better be soon," said Ironhide, who had been silent up until this point. "More Decepticons are bound to show up sooner or later, and now that the boy is one of us, he's going to be a target. They aren't going to check if he knows how to shoot back before they take him out."

"Weapons..." Sam said, and shuddered. He had never even held a gun before, the fact that he now had weapons systems built into his body made him very nervous, and, despite Ironhide's dire predictions, he was quite glad that they weren't turned on at present.

"Thank you, Ironhide, for that _valuable_ insight," muttered Ratchet, "and for upsetting my patient."

"I'm just saying, we can't keep coddling him indefinitely..." the weapons specialist replied defensively.

"Take a look at what I've seen in his mind and then tell me we're coddling him." Bumblebee's voice was very quiet and unusually cold as it interrupted the black Autobot's words.

"Try me," said Ironhide challengingly. "I have seen things in my lifetime that would make your paint peel."

"So have I," said Ratchet, "but I downloaded the autopsy reports myself, along with the accompanying photographs, it was rather disturbing."

"He wasn't killed instantly." Bumblebee's voice went from cold to trembling. "I saw it. I saw everything."

"Everyone, please calm down," Optimus cut in to the fray. "Remember what you are talking about and who is listening. This situation has been upsetting for all of us, and it is correct that Sam needs to learn complete mastery of all the things he will need to survive as soon as possible, but not today." He turned his attention to Sam who had been trying to block out the conversations around him. "Sam, you and Bumblebee have both had a very difficult experience, you should take some time to relax. I believe you were planning to wash Sam before this all got started, weren't you, Bumblebee?"

"Yes," said Bumblebee. "There is still enough daylight left. Shall we go, Sam?"

The blue bot tilted his head in concern. "I don't know, Bee. When we were going through my memories, you had a pretty rough time in there, too. Do you, you know, want to go lie down or something?"

"What I want, Sam, is to wash you," Bee said.

"If you're sure..."

"I _need_ to do this," the yellow Autobot said. "Please."

"Alright, but if you get tired, just let me know, okay?"

They made their way outside and around to the back of the building where they had been such a short time ago, though it seemed much longer. The supplies were where they had been left, and there was nothing for Sam to do but transform and give himself up to Bumblebee's ministrations.

He watched through the optical sensors located in his headlights as the yellow bot began by squirting a small amount of automotive cleanser into a larger oil drum than the ones they had been using to drink from. Water from the hose followed, and soon this makeshift bucket was filled with soapy water.

Next the hose was turned on Sam. He was surprised to find that although the water was cold, it did not bother him as it would have in his human body. Rather than experiencing a shock, all he felt was the pleasurable contrast between the heat of the sun beating down on him, and the refreshing coolness of the water.

Bee made sure that the strong spray of water caressed every part of him, starting with the roof and working its way downwards towards the tires, paying special attention to problem areas like the front grille where bugs and other nastiness often accumulated. It was difficult to completely see what the other bot was doing, so when the spray of the hose directed itself into his wheel wells he gave a yelp of surprise, which quickly turned into a gasp of relief as the pressure of the liquid released a clump of dirt that had been wedged there since his escape into the wilderness.

Each well was given a similar treatment, and Sam realized that it actually was quite pleasant to feel the water touch him there even when there was nothing to dislodge. When the hose was turned to the areas under his bumpers, it felt even better, and as his diligent washer finished treating the blue SUV's front end and made his way towards the back, Sam found that anticipation made the next touch of the water all the more delicious.

Finally Bee finished spraying him down, and turned off the hose. Sam assumed he was getting the bucket, but he couldn't quite see from this angle. Suddenly, there was a snap-hiss, that sounded suspiciously like a low-level weapons discharge, and then one of those huge, fluffy sponges from the crate, now laden with generous amounts of soapy water, descended onto his roof. Sam groaned at the unexpected rush of sensation - the water was warm, no, make that hot, blissfully hot after the coldness he had been hosed down with, and it felt amazing.

"Bee, how did you...?"

"Don't talk, Sam," said Bumblebee, "just relax and enjoy." Taking up the hose, he meticulously laved the SUV's roof with cold water, washing away the soap residue so it wouldn't dry and spot. He then got to work on the rest of Sam's chassis, doing each side individually with that wonderful, hot, soapy sponge and then rinsing with the invigorating cold water from the hose.

Being so much bigger than Sam had been in his human form, and operating with a bigger sponge, it should, by rights, have taken Bumblebee less time to complete the job, but instead, incredibly, the yellow bot took even longer. With infinite tenderness and patience he saw to every single detail, including some so small that Sam himself might have overlooked them. By the end of it, the Grand Vitara was wishing very much that SUVs could purr.

Bee gave him a final rinse, then took one of the large cloths that had been provided and began drying the Suzuki off, starting at the top and working his way down. Sam left off the thought of purring and settled for something he could do, which was moaning. The alternating hot washes and cold rinses had left his metal more sensitive than he ever could have dreamed possible, and the delicate caress of the soft fabric over his frame felt entirely too calculated to be innocent.

As Bee finished drying him, Sam felt himself relax, and realized he had been unconsciously bouncing on his tires, pushing himself against the yellow bot's rhythmically stroking hand. He thought the worst was over, but he was wrong.

"Now we should apply this paint scratch remover they sent," said Bumblebee helpfully.

Great, just what he needed, more rubbing of his achingly responsive bodywork. "And, umm, how long will that take?" he asked, cautiously.

"I estimate about 30 minutes to apply, and then another 30 for the product to dry." Ever so delicately, the cloth swept over his back end, even though he knew he was already completely dry.

A whole hour! "Uh uh, Bee, no way, maybe later, but definitely not now..." He transformed back into robot mode and stalked towards the yellow bot, who dropped the cloth he had been using with an adorably startled squeak as he was enfolded within strong blue arms, and swept to the ground. "Teach me how to do that," Sam whispered demandingly, nuzzling the other's neck as he settled himself between sunshine coloured legs.

"But Sam," Bumblebee drew out the single syllable of the name into an inadvertent whimper, "you already know how to wash a car..."

"That's not what I mean, I want to know how to make you go crazy like I am right now." How he wished he still had teeth! Something in him wanted to bite, badly, but he settled for turning his attention to the other side of Bee's neck, pressing his face into it, remembering that night in the back seat, when he had done the same thing to Mikaela as he groaned his desperate release. Mikaela had smelled like Herbal Essences shampoo, and sweat-gilded skin, Bee smelled like sun-warm metal; both aromas intoxicated him.

"You already know how to do that, too," said Bumblebee, beginning to work his fingertips under the edges of Sam's armour, causing the former human to remember their aborted explorations earlier this morning, and the delicious moan he had inadvertently wrung from the yellow bot by touching the inner workings of the gloriously complicated thighs that now cradled him. It had only been a few hours since that time, but it felt like it had been so much longer. After the harrowing experience of witnessing the end of his human life and the beginning of his robot existence, Sam thought it had been more than long enough, and his body seemed to agree with him, already sensitized circuits thrumming even more insistently to Bee's teasing caresses.

Both the pleasant, and not so pleasant memories served to inflame him, adding a poignant urgency as Sam initiated touches of his own, investigating what he could do to return the pleasure he was receiving. The position they were in was not conductive to covering a lot of territory, but he was reluctant to abandon it, bracing himself on his forearms as he stared at the astonishing mechanical being that lay beneath him.

Because it was so natural to him, it didn't register at first that there was something wrong, well, not wrong, exactly, but definitely unexpected. To Bumblebee's infinite credit he did not sound exasperated as he finally brought the situation to Sam's attention. The fact that the yellow Autobot also did not stop his questing for sensitive spots beneath the armour of his blue partner's back would account for the reason his words took a moment to sink in. "Sam, you are attempting to mate with me in the human fashion."

"Huh?" A muted, clanking sound filtered into his consciousness, suddenly making sense as Bee's words were belatedly interpreted. Making the connection between words and sound gave him his first realization: that he was gently, but insistently grinding his featureless crotch against the equally unassuming plane of Bee's own pelvic armour. The fact that it felt incredibly good led him to the second: he had the hugest, most painfully pleasurable, most powerful erection he had ever experienced in his life.

Oh, he didn't actually _have_ an erection - even with his less than stellar science record he knew the odds of million year old alien robots having physiologies identical to humans would be microscopic - but that didn't change the fact that he could feel that familiar presence at his groin, rigid and aching, so incredibly engorged and wanting that it bent almost backwards against his belly. Ratchet had mentioned sensory ghosts of his human existence, but Sam would never have expected them to take the form of a phantom penis, never mind one that felt so excruciatingly real.

"Oh god, Bee," he groaned, trying to stop the frantic motions of his hips. "I can _feel _it." The unbelievability of the situation struck him: here he was, practically on the verge of getting off from a non-existent sex organ while dry humping an alien robot who also had no genitalia.

Said alien robot didn't seem to mind all that much, but it was obvious the situation was not affecting him the way it was Sam, although the seductive tone of voice as he next spoke, and the words that were spoken, suggested that it potentially could: "Show me."

The blue bot halted his efforts, realizing what Bee was talking about. "You mean like, before, sharing thoughts?"

"Yes."

"That sounds great, better than great actually" he said, remembering how Bee had reacted to some of the pleasant experiences from his human life that Sam had shared with him before. "But I don't know..." He pulled himself back, feeling around his own armour, remembering the cable that he had seen connecting himself and Bumblebee that first time he woke up. "Isn't there supposed to be a cord or something?"

"Here," Bee sat up, pressing a seemingly innocuous place on Sam's armour which obligingly slid open, revealing a small socket and a plug next to it. He grasped the plug, pulling it towards himself, and a length of cord emerged, having obviously been wrapped up somewhere safe inside to avoid tangles. The yellow bot then opened a similar panel on his own chest, and Sam saw an identical set of connectors to his own. Bee fed Sam's plug into the socket and then unravelled his own length of cable, handing it trustingly to Sam and laying back on the ground. "You do this one."

Carefully, Sam repeated the action he had seen Bee do on himself. "Establishing connection," read the status bar in front of his vision, startling him for a moment. He couldn't believe how fast he had grown accustomed to the things in front of his optics, to the point where he only noticed them if he wanted to, or if something changed and drew his attention.

It was the first time that they had attempted this while he was fully conscious, and it felt very different, much more exciting somehow, to look into Bee's softly glowing optics, and suddenly feel that other, inward awareness as it clicked into place, allowing him to see far more of his incredible machine lover than vision ever could.

Neither of them moved. It was like that other first time, when he had entered Mikaela, who, despite not being a virgin, had still needed a moment to adjust to his invasion.

"Touch me, Sam," said Bumblebee, and he didn't mean with hands.

Remembering what the yellow bot had wanted, he returned his awareness to the false sensation of human arousal that still lingered within him, wound even tighter by the idea of actually being connected to Bee, even if it was in a different fashion than his human instincts had been programmed to make him crave.

"More," Bee whispered, beginning to shift slightly on the hard ground, "give it to me..."

It was just the sort of thing any male, poised above his lover in an intimate embrace, would long to hear. A tickle of mischief at the edge of his thoughts told him that Bee was well aware of the fact, and had deliberately chosen the words for their desired impact.

"I would love to," he replied, "only I don't know how."

"Like this..." Suddenly he felt the presence of something being nudged towards him, the sensation of his consciousness being hijacked by a force much, much stronger. All at once the pleasure he was feeling doubled as every circuit in his body seemed to light on fire with single minded fervour. Although less intense than the focused sensation of an erection, the tingling, full-bodied awareness, the anticipation, more than made up for it in sheer volume.

When Sam could almost think again, he made an attempt to return the gesture, tentatively gathering up his own excitement, the pent-up, searing need that focused itself in the phantom projection of his human body, and pushed it into Bee, forcing immediate immersion in the experience rather than a gradual absorption of what it meant. The yellow robot beneath him let out a startled cry and clasped at him fitfully, both physically and mentally, trying to bring him closer.

They pulsed together, almost as one, thoughts becoming an astonishingly powerful surrogate for the physical act he could no longer accomplish in this robotic form. He felt Bee reaching towards him, reaching inside of him, a vital energy, moving with a directed purpose that Sam couldn't identify, one that was textured with soft mental glee, like a child who was playing with a new toy.

The purpose of Bee's game soon became clear as Sam found himself convulsing, hands clawing deep into the dirt, wracked by the sensation of an orgasm he should no longer be capable of.

"Bee, what are you doing?" Sam groaned.

"Exploring..." said the yellow bot enigmatically. "Want another?"

Orgasms were great, who wouldn't want another?

Sam screamed, a harsh, metallic sound as a second orgasm washed over him.

"You sure have lots of these saved up in here, Sam," said Bee in amusement, his presence a fluttering, flitting, searching thing that seemed eager to touch ever part of him at once.

A third orgasm hit, followed by a fourth and a fifth. Sam tried to communicate through the agony of pleasure, but it was too much. And they just kept coming. One after another, after another, after another, and he remembered every pulsing, clenching, grinding, agonizingly exquisite one.

He'd had his first orgasm back in 2003...

"November 17, 2003," Bee supplied, with a smugness that did not go unnoticed, even in Sam's nearly overloaded state.

...and with an average of one orgasm a day, that would make...

"1460 orgasms, Sam... Enjoy."

"Oh my god, Bee, what have you done?" Sam moaned, but with their connection he already knew: every orgasm he had ever experienced, locked together in a feedback loop that blew his mind.

He lost count at somewhere around thirty-six, distantly aware of ungodly screaming that must have been coming from him. He even thought he might have heard Ratchet coming to check on them, but by that point he wouldn't have cared if the whole gang of Autobots had settled down to watch.

It was too much. His fingers dug great furrows in the dry soil as he shuddered atop Bee, trying to find sanity amidst the gorgeous madness. It was too much for him to handle on his own, this wonderful gift that Bee had given him. It was time to return the gift.

Marshalling his concentration, he plunged forward into the link they shared, hearing Bee cry out. He pushed further, finding none of the barriers that had blocked him before. Joy and gratitude surrounded him: joy in his pleasure, and gratitude for his return against impossible odds. Just how impossible those odds had been coloured Bee's thoughts with a similar urgency to Sam's.

Touching the keen edge of that desperation broke something within him, and a new, and powerful sensation crashed over him, one that made the roar of human sex feedback nothing more than a vaguely pleasant background noise. It was like being zapped with a few thousand volts of electric, white-hot bliss, making his whole body spasm and contract. Dimly, he was aware of an answering convulsion from the yellow bot beneath him before the world went dark.

* * *

Author's notes: 

So there it is, the finally piece of the puzzle of why Sam is the way he is. Yes, I couldn't resist using the World's Greatest Plot Device (the Allspark) but I hope my take on it is at least interesting to people.

I'm not sure what else to say, really. Stay tuned for more.


End file.
